


The Important Thing is to Try

by PocketMouse18



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: Adoption, Family, Foster Care, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Jemma Simmons, Kid Skye | Daisy Johnson, Parent Melinda May, Parent Phil Coulson, adoption au, philindaisy, teen Bobbi Morse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 300,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketMouse18/pseuds/PocketMouse18
Summary: When Phil Coulson and Melinda May agreed to become foster parents, they never would have guessed how much their lives would change. For their new foster daughters, Skye and Jemma, it's a chance at a life they never imagined they would have.
Relationships: Bobbi Morse & Jemma Simmons, Bobbi Morse & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Bobbi Morse, Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 1205
Kudos: 760





	1. Visitors

**Author's Note:**

> Agents of Shield is one of my favorite TV shows, and I have always really loved reading adoption AUs for it, so I wanted to try my hand at writing my own! This is currently being updated on Fanfiction as well, if you'd prefer to read it over there. I've never posted anything I've written on this site before, so any and all feedback is welcome! Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> TW for teasing/bullying

Skye knew the second that she and Jemma walked through the front door of St. Agnes’ Orphanage that something was up. Sister Beatrice, one of the nicer nuns, was waiting in the entry, a tight look on her face.

“Jemma, could you come with me?” the sister asked. “There’s someone here to meet you.” That explained it, Skye thought. Yet another foster family had seen Jemma’s file and wanted to take in the well-behaved girl with the sky-high IQ, without knowing the full story. Skye gave Jemma’s hand a quick squeeze and leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

“I’ll be waiting for you upstairs,” she murmured, trying to inject confidence into her voice. She knew Jemma must be terrified. This sort of thing had happened more than once, and every time it did, it didn’t get any easier on Jemma. Foster families were entranced by her file and were eager for an “easy” foster kid, not realizing that Jemma, although brilliant and kind, would not be the poster child they assumed she was. Jemma was painfully shy, and often couldn’t speak in front of anyone besides Skye and a few of the sisters. She had a number of odd habits as well, things she and Skye referred to as her quirks, although many foster families had found them to be more irritating than quirky.

Sister Beatrice gave Jemma a stiff smile, the kind grownups give to kids when they’re faking like everything is okay even though everyone can tell that it’s not, and gestured her towards the door of the main office.

"Just… be yourself, Jemma,” the sister encouraged. Jemma gave Skye a small wave before she disappeared behind the heavy wooden door. Skye waited until the count of ten, then made her way quickly over to the door. Kneeling down on the part of the floor that didn’t creak, Skye held her ear close to the small gap between the bottom of the door and the floor to try and catch snippets of conversation.

“Ah, Sister Beatrice, Jemma, come in,” came the voice of Sister Margaret, the woman in charge of the orphanage. The sound of chairs scraping across the floor made Skye recoil slightly, but she resumed her position as soon as the noise had stopped.

“Jemma, this is Mr. and Mrs. Coulson,” said Sister Margaret. “They were hoping to meet you today. They’d like for you to come and stay with them.” There was an awkward silence. Skye could picture Jemma sitting silently, feeling awkward as all the adults stared at her. A faint tapping sound began to drift under the door, and Skye knew that Jemma had started drumming her right middle finger against the chair leg to try and calm her nerves. _Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

“Hi Jemma.” A man’s voice, gentle and friendly sounding. “I’m Phil, and this is my wife Melinda. Sister Margaret’s told us some wonderful things about you. We’d really like to get to know you.” _Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

“Jemma, can you look at Mr. Coulson while he’s speaking to you?” _Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

“Oh, that’s okay Sister Margaret. You’re welcome to look wherever you’re comfortable, Jemma,” said the man. Mr. Coulson, Skye supposed. She was a little surprised at his flexibility. Often foster parents found Jemma’s staring at the floor to count floorboards unappealing.

“Are you counting something, Jemma?” This voice was a woman’s, unfamiliar. It must have belonged to the man’s wife. Skye was impressed that she could tell that Jemma was counting, not just muttering under breath like a crazy person.

“Floorboards,” came the quiet, slightly accented voice of Jemma. She had been raised in England by British parents for several years before moving to the US, and she still retained some of her original accent.

“Jemma’s got quite a mind for math,” Sister Margaret interjected. “She’s always working out numbers in her head.”

“How many floorboards have you counted up so far?” asked the woman, apparently ignoring the harried explanation offered by the nun.

“Thirty-one,” Jemma replied after a beat, her voice small. Skye knew that Jemma must have been debating in her head. The nuns always wanted her to be as normal as possible with potential families, to try and get her fostered, but this couple seemed to be genuinely interested in meeting the real Jemma, floorboards and all.

“Do you like to count other things?” the man asked.

“Sometimes,” Jemma told him. Skye noticed that the tapping sound had stopped. There must be something about these people that made Jemma stay calmer than normal if she could talk to them without tapping.

“Well, Jemma, how would you feel about coming to live with us for a while?” asked the man. “Your social worker, Miss Hand, thinks we might be a good fit. What do you say?” There was a long silence, and the tapping resumed.

“Jemma, you know shrugging is not an acceptable response to a question,” Sister Margaret said crisply. “I’m so sorry, we try to teach the girls manners, but some habits are hard to break.”

“It’s perfectly all right,” the man reassured her. “It’s a big question.”

“And very thoughtful of you to ask,” Sister Margaret added. “Although Jemma doesn’t really have much of a choice. Miss Hand has already assigned Jemma’s care over to you, so this is really more of a formality.”

“People always deserve to have a choice, Sister Margaret,” said the woman. Skye cocked her head to one side. Something about this woman seemed brazen. Skye would have liked to have seen the look on Sister Margaret’s face at that response.

“Of course, that’s not what I… I only meant that the social workers are responsible for the girls’ placements, and—”

“We understand,” Mr. Coulson said gently. “Nothing implied. We just think it’s important to make sure Jemma feels comfortable with us.”

“So Jemma,” Mrs. Coulson prompted, “how would you feel about giving it a try? Would that be okay?” _Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

“Wonderful!” Sister Margaret exclaimed. Jemma must have nodded her head. “Jemma, why don’t you and Sister Beatrice go upstairs to pack your things—” The sound of scraping chair filled Skye’s ears again, and she scrambled away from the door quickly before Jemma or Sister Beatrice could find her crouched there. Unfortunately, her scrambling wasn’t quite quick enough, because the heavy wood door collided solidly with Skye’s shoulder and sent her sprawling across the entryway in full view of everyone. Sheepish, Skye looked up from the floor and took in the scene in front of her. Jemma was standing slouched in front of Sister Beatrice, whose guiding hand was placed on her shoulder. Sister Margaret stood behind her large desk, mouth agape at the sight of Skye splayed out in the doorway. A white man with thinning brown hair and a warm expression sat in a spindly chair next to an Asian woman with shoulder-length black hair and a steely glint in her eye. Both the man and the woman looked amused to see Skye obviously caught in the act of eavesdropping.

“Mary Sue! What on earth are you doing down there?” Sister Margaret demanded. Skye felt the weight of five sets of eyes on her as she got to her feet.

“I um… tripped. I was coming downstairs, to go to do some homework, and I kind of fell… in front of the door,” Skye said lamely. She knew no one would believe her, but she was more focused on trying to get a read on Jemma than convince the adults in the room that she hadn’t been spying on them. Jemma smiled when Skye gave her a glance, but it didn’t extend to her eyes, which were pooled with fear.

“Are you a friend of Jemma’s?” the man, who must have been Mr. Coulson, asked. Skye nodded.

“I’m Skye,” she told him. She didn’t offer any other information, despite the inviting smile of Mr. Coulson. He seemed like he might be nice – his voice was friendly, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her – but Skye knew better than to talk too much.

“Mary Sue, why don’t you go upstairs with Sister Beatrice and Jemma to help her pack?” Sister Margaret suggested, clearly trying to shuffle Skye out of the room. Skye nodded, and quickly took Jemma’s hand. As their hands met, Jemma melted into Skye’s side, and she stood up a little straighter. Skye noticed the Asian woman, who she assumed was Mrs. Coulson, watching them closely as the two girls made their way towards the door and up the stairs, Sister Beatrice behind.

Up in their dormitory, Jemma and Skye made quick work of filling a battered duffel bag with Jemma’s clothes under Sister Beatrice’s watchful eye. When the nun saw that the two girls had the packing well in hand, she turned to go back downstairs.

“It seems like you two have got this covered. I’ll be downstairs helping the other children with homework if you need anything,” she told them. Skye could tell that Sister Beatrice was giving them a moment alone to say goodbye, and she was grateful for the privacy. Jemma didn’t say anything as she folded up her map of the stars and tucked in between the pages of her well-worn biology encyclopedia, a big book full of pictures and information on all sorts of plants and animals and other living things that had belonged to her father. Skye watched as Jemma’s hands shook while sliding the massive book into her backpack, and quickly crossed over to her, taking Jemma’s hands in her own.

“It’s going to be okay,” Skye assured her. A gentle squeeze from Skye helped to steady the trembling, and Jemma took a steadying breath. “They seem okay, those Coulson people, and if it doesn’t work out, then you always have me to come back to.” Skye offered Jemma a slightly crooked half smile, that Jemma managed to weakly return.

“I hate having to do this all over again,” Jemma admitted. “I’d rather just stay here with you than go back and forth all the time. They always send me back once they see how odd I am.” Jemma’s voice caught in her throat as she spoke, and she swallowed hard to keep from crying.

“You’re not odd,” Skye said stubbornly. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Just then, Michaela Dodson, one of the girls who shared the dormitory with them, came into the room, flanked as usual by her miniature pack of cronies. Michaela was a year older than Skye, and about a foot taller. She was the kind of kid who was always up to no good but somehow never seemed to get in trouble for her bullying, cheating, or stealing.

“Heard you’re going away again, freak. How long do you think it’ll be before these ones send you back to the pound like the rest?” Michaela sneered. Skye felt Jemma shrink next to her. She had always been a favorite target of Michaela’s, a fact which made Skye’s blood boil.

“Remind me again when the last time anyone wanted to take you home was, Dud-son?” Skye shot back. Michaela’s face darkened, and she took a threatening step towards the girls.

“Like that matters. Nobody wants kids like us, especially not mixed breed mutts like you or spazzes like the blubbering wonder girl over there.” Michaela started rocking back and forth on her heels and slapping her palm against her thigh in a cruel imitation of Jemma. Her goons howled with laughter behind her. “You know, for a genius you sure do act like a re—”

Before Michaela could finish the hateful word, Skye had lunged at the bigger girl, driving her shoulder into Michaela’s stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Michaela stumbled backwards and landed on her backside, Skye on top of her. Skye tried to push Michaela down and pin her between her knees, but Michaela gave Skye a mighty shove and sent her flying in the opposite direction. Both girls scrambled to their feet, while Jemma edged towards the back wall and Michaela’s gang pressed in close, forming a circle around Skye. One of the girls grabbed Skye’s arms, pinning them behind her back, and Michaela moved towards her, a hungry look in her eyes. As Michaela drew back her arm to launch a punch, Skye flung her weight backwards onto the girl holding her arms, giving her enough momentum to bring her feet up into the air and land a hefty kick under Michaela’s chin. Michaela reeled backwards, but rebounded quickly with a look of pure loathing on her face.

“You’re going to regret that, runt,” Michaela snarled, winding up and landing a painful blow across Skye’s cheek. Skye winced with pain as Michaela’s fist cracked across her face, but forced herself not to cry out. She struggled fiercely against her restraints, but the other girls had joined in pinning her after the kick and it was to no avail. One of the girls had her arm pressed against Skye’s throat, and Skye was struggling to breathe. Just as Michaela was preparing to take another swing, a harsh voice rang out.

“What is going on here?” Everyone whirled around to see Sister Margaret and Mrs. Coulson standing in the doorway. Each woman wore a displeased look on her face, and the girls quickly released Skye, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“We caught Skye trying to steal some of our things and hide them in Jemma’s duffel bag,” Michaela lied, her face rearranged into a picture of saccharine sincerity. “We were just trying to stop her from becoming a thief, Sister, when she attacked me out of nowhere. We were trying to keep her from hurting anybody.”

“Be that as it may, you girls know the rules against fighting. You’ll be on dishes all week. And you, Mary Sue, do you have anything to say for yourself? Theft and unprovoked violence?” Sister Margaret asked. Skye opened her mouth to defend herself, but closed it just as quickly. There was no use in trying to convince Sister Margaret of what really happened. Skye had gotten in trouble too many times before for the sister to believe her now.

“No, Sister.”

“Well, you know well enough the punishments for those sins. You’ll report to Sister Francis for kitchen duty for the next two weeks, and your free time has been reduced by an hour a night until the end of the month. Now, Jemma, are you all ready to go?” The nun’s demeanor shifted radically as she turned to address Jemma, who had practically wedged herself in the corner during the midst of the fight. Jemma stood frozen for a moment, then shook her head frantically. Skye could see Michaela and her girls mocking her behind Sister Margaret’s back, whipping their heads back and forth and shaking with laughter. Her face grew hot with anger, but she forced herself to choke it down. She didn’t need to get in any more trouble at the moment.

“All right, then, you have just a few minutes more. Come downstairs once you’re packed, and then we can send Mr. and Mrs. Coulson on their way. Come on, girls.” Sister Margaret beckoned for Michaela and the others to follow her as she left the room, which they did, although not without a final sneer at Skye and Jemma as they left. Once they were gone, Jemma rushed over to Skye’s side and brushed her fingers over the welt that was blossoming under Skye’s eye. Her other hand tapped lightly on her thigh, a soft _pat-pat-pat_ against her jeans.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jemma murmured, her eyes sad. “You’ll be in awful trouble with them and with Sister now.”

“It’s okay, really. You know I could never let her get away with saying all that crap.” Skye watched as Jemma’s face fell at the mention of Michaela’s hurtful teasing. “You know it’s not true. There’s nothing wrong with you.” The sound of a throat clearing snapped the girls back to attention, and they turned to see Mrs. Coulson still standing in the doorway. Jemma’s face went scarlet, and Skye could feel her own cheeks flushing. She hadn’t realized anyone was listening.

“I figured there was more to the story than what that girl said,” Mrs. Coulson remarked. “You weren’t stealing, were you Skye?”

“No,” Skye admitted, her brow furrowing. “I’m not a thief. Michaela just… she said some stuff and I couldn’t let her get away with it.”

“I see,” Mrs. Coulson said. She seemed thoughtful. “I’ll be downstairs with Mr. Coulson. You two can meet us down there when you’re ready.” She turned then, and left without another word.

“That was weird,” Skye said. “At least she’s going to let me say goodbye, though.” Jemma nodded. Her tapping has gotten louder, and Skye could see the fingers on her other hand twitching as well. She slipped her hand into Jemma’s non-tapping one, and squeezed it as she took a deep, deliberate breath in. Jemma followed suit, inhaling as slowly as she could. As both girls exhaled, Skye stopped squeezing, but didn’t drop Jemma’s hand. They continued in the same way for another minute or so, Skye squeezing and releasing in time with their shared breaths. Neither one could remember where they had picked up the trick, but it was a go-to any time either one of them needed help calming down.

“It’s going to be okay,” Skye said again, trying to convince herself just as much as Jemma. “You’re going to do great with the Coulsons, and I’m going to be fine here.” Jemma nodded, her face solemn. Both girls were aware that the other one was putting on a brave face, but there wasn’t much more either of them could do at that point. One more quick sweep of the room to make sure Jemma hadn’t left anything behind complete, the pair made their way to the door and down the stairs to say their final goodbye.

As they neared the main office, Skye immediately noticed that something had changed. Sister Margaret’s voice was tight and had a bite to it, which Skye knew meant she was unhappy about something. A voice that Skye now recognized as Mrs. Coulson’s cut curtly across Sister Margaret’s words.

“Surely you can get Miss Hand on the phone right now to make the proper arrangements,” said Mrs. Coulson. “I would think that your organization would welcome a second suitable placement.”

“Of course, but this is highly unorthodox,” Sister Margaret protested. “And besides, as you saw earlier, Mary Sue is one of our more difficult children—”

“I have reason to believe you were not given the full story upstairs,” Mrs. Coulson said stoutly. “Please call Miss Hand, or my husband and I will do it ourselves. Victoria is an old friend, I’m sure she will understand the situation.” Jemma and Skye looked at one another, each silently asking the other what was going on. Skye shrugged, and crept closer to the office door, trying to get a peak inside. She didn’t have a very good view, but she could see that the three adults were all standing around in the office. Both Mrs. Coulson and Sister Margaret had stern looks on their faces, and Mr. Coulson seemed a little befuddled, although still resolute as well. As Skye watched, he turned slightly and spotted her peering through the doorway. He caught her eye and winked, flashing her a small smile.

“If it’s all right with you, Sister Margaret, I’m going to step out for some air while you and my wife contact Miss Hand,” he said, crossing towards the door. Skye scampered back towards Jemma, and the two girls watched as Mr. Coulson came out into the hall.

“Jemma, Skye, hi there,” he grinned. “Skye, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name’s Phil.” He stuck out his hand, which Skye shook hesitantly. The guy seemed nice, but Skye had a lot of questions for him. “I was hoping to go outside and get some fresh air. Maybe you girls would be able to show me a good spot?”

Skye glanced at Jemma, who seemed open to the idea, then turned back to Mr. Coulson and shrugged. “Okay.” The three made their way outside, Skye leading the way, and settled by a bench under a large oak tree out front. Before Mr. Coulson had a chance to open his mouth, Skye blurted out the biggest question that was on her mind.

“What was going on in there? Why are you calling Miss Hand?”

“Did we do something wrong?” Jemma asked, her face paling slightly. Miss Hand was their social worker, and while the woman was very nice, she often only got called when there was trouble.

“No, no, not at all!” Mr. Coulson assured them. His smile was gentle, and his voice seemed comforting. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but Melinda – that’s my wife – she wants to see if Miss Hand can’t work something out for us. We noticed how important you two are to each other and… well it just seemed like such a shame to split up a team as good as yours…” He looked sheepish. “Melinda would tell me I’m saying too much. We don’t know yet if it will work, but we’d really like it if both of you could come home with us.” Skye felt a balloon inflate in her chest, and a quick look at Jemma’s stunned expression told her that she felt something similar.

“You mean, you want to foster both of us? Together?” Skye asked. Mr. Coulson nodded.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Melinda told me about how you stood up for Jemma against those other girls, Skye, and she told me about how you took care of Skye afterwards, Jemma. It seems like you two are pretty good friends. It’s important to have good friends in this world.” Skye’s face split into a grin. As many times as she and Jemma had been placed in foster homes, they had never been able to go to one together. Usually they just had to wait until the foster parents sent them back to St. Agnes before they could see each other again. She didn’t really know anything about the Coulsons, and she knew that there was a real possibility they could be just as bad as every other foster family she’d ever had, but somehow knowing that she and Jemma would be together made it feel okay.

“So, tell me a little bit about yourselves, girls,” Mr. Coulson urged. “I’d love to get to know you.” Both girls were quiet for a minute, trying to decide exactly what to say. Mr. Coulson seemed to notice their hesitation. “I can start, if that helps,” he said. “You already know my name, and that I’m married. I teach history at the high school where we live, mostly American. I love eating pancakes, and watching Star Wars movies. I also really like comic books.” He smiled at Skye and Jemma, inviting them to share. Something inside of Skye told her that it was okay to open up a bit.

“I’m Skye. The nuns all call me Mary Sue, because that’s technically my real name, but I like to go by Skye better. I’m thirteen years old. I don’t really have a favorite subject in school, but I like when we get to use computers, I guess.”

“What about you, Jemma?” Mr. Coulson asked. He was a very attentive listener, and he seemed like he genuinely was interested in what Skye and Jemma had to say.

“I like all my subjects,” Jemma said. She spoke very quietly, and her eyes were glued to the ground, but Skye was impressed that she was talking to a stranger like Mr. Coulson at all. Granted, he was a very nice stranger, but usually Jemma avoided talking to anyone she didn’t know. “Science the best, though.”

“We both like pancakes, too,” Skye offered, trying to keep the conversation going while also shifting it away from school.

“And grilled cheese,” Jemma added, the smallest of smiles dancing across her face. Both girls were beginning to relax more, and the conversation started to come more naturally. Before long, all three stretched out under the oak, soaking up the late afternoon sun and swapping favorite things back and forth.

“Lord of the Rings,” suggested Mr. Coulson.

“Harry Potter,” Skye returned.

“Doctor Who,” came Jemma’s addition.

“What’s all this?” asked a friendly voice. All three turned to see Mrs. Coulson approaching wearing a triumphant smile. “Are we naming as many British things as we can?”

“No, we’re talking about things we like,” Skye said, clambering to her feet and dusting dirt and leaves from her jeans. “Mr. Coulson said you were going to try and foster me and Jemma together. Did it work? Did you talk to Miss Hand?”

Mrs. Coulson swatted playfully at Mr. Coulson’s shoulder. “You couldn’t resist telling them, could you?”

“What can I say, I’m a man of weak resolve,” Mr. Coulson shrugged. “I just get so excited…”

“Well luckily for you, you didn’t raise any hopes for nothing,” Mrs. Coulson said. She turned to Jemma and Skye and spoke to them directly. “Your social worker, Miss Hand, is an old friend of mine. She had already recommended that you be placed with us, Jemma, but I was able to speak with her just now and explain that we were really hoping to take two girls home today, and we had met one who seemed like a good fit. Miss Hand is finishing up some paperwork, but she’s sending it over in an hour, so Skye, if you want, Phil and I would very much like to be your new foster parents.” Skye felt her heart swell with excitement. It was really happening. She and Jemma were leaving St. Agnes, at least for a little while, and getting fostered together. Skye knew that the situation likely wouldn’t be permanent, no foster family ever had been, but the idea of sharing a home with Jemma away from the nuns and bullies of the orphanage was just too good to pass up. She glanced at Jemma to check for her approval, and the relief that was washed over Jemma’s face was more than clear enough to tell Skye that Jemma was feeling the same way. Skye looked back at the Coulsons and nodded firmly.

The next hour or so felt like a blur to Skye. She and Jemma went back up to the dormitory to pack her things, and it didn’t take long to throw her clothes into the same duffel bag that held Jemma’s. It took a little longer to un-wedge the loose floorboard under Skye’s bed and pull out the pieces of broken hardware she had been saving up. For several months, Skye had sifted through garbage and pawn shops and curbside dumps, grabbing any broken or discarded pieces of computers that she could. Eventually, Skye was hoping that she’d be able to figure out how to assemble the good pieces into a computer of her very own, but for now, most of her progress had been fairly limited. Still, she wasn’t about to abandon all of her hard work now.

After the last piece of half-fried motherboard was jammed into her backpack, Skye and Jemma went back downstairs to the office, where they waited anxiously for Miss Hand to send the correct paperwork to Sister Margaret. The waiting was excruciating, but Skye managed to entertain herself by watching the puzzled expressions of other girls from the orphanage as they passed by the office on their way to dinner. Next to her, Jemma counted the floorboards, then the ceiling tiles, and then every tick that the second hand on the wall clock made as it circled endlessly around. Fortunately, she counted quietly enough that only Skye could hear her, but even still, it started to drive Skye the slightest bit crazy once Jemma hit the five-hundreds.

Finally, after Jemma had counted to 2,164 ticks of the second hand, Sister Margaret’s computer pinged with the sound of a new email, forms were printed, and signed, and suddenly, everyone was standing up and shaking hands and saying their goodbyes. It was time to go. The girls shouldered their bulging backpacks, and Mr. Coulson picked up the duffel bag they had packed together, and then Skye, Jemma, and the Coulsons all headed out of St. Agnes and over towards their car.

“So long, Agnes,” Skye muttered as they left. “Can’t say I’m going to miss you.”

Jemma giggled, and nodded emphatically. “Good riddance,” she whispered. “At least for a while.”


	2. The First Night

The car ride over to the Coulsons’ house was uneventful, but took nearly thirty minutes. Skye could hear Jemma counting streets and blocks under her breath as they drove, and figured that they were far enough away from St. Agnes that they were probably going to be in a different school district. Something in her stomach twisted at the thought of having to start a new school yet again. Almost every time she had gone to a new foster family, a new school had come with it, and every time she went back to St. Agnes, the jumping back and forth made her further and further behind. Skye knew she wasn’t dumb, despite what some of her foster parents had told her over the years, but it was hard to keep up when you were never in the same classroom for an entire year. On top of all that, a new school meant new kids, new lunchroom politics, new people demanding an explanation for her situation. Skye wondered if Jemma had thought about school yet. Jemma was brilliant, and had very little trouble keeping up with the work, but the social aspects of school were always a struggle. For both of them, really, but Skye couldn’t help but worry more about how Jemma would fare than herself.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of the Coulsons’ house, Skye was more than a little impressed. The house was bigger than she had been expecting, with a second story and big windows on the front. A warm light spilled off of the front porch and made the whole thing look like one of the most inviting foster homes she had ever seen. A lot of times, foster homes were small and cramped, or run down and badly maintained, but this house was neatly painted and had a row of flowers planted out front, leading up to the mailbox. It was clear that the Coulsons put a lot of care into the place, something that Skye hoped was a good sign.

“Well, here we are,” Mr. Coulson announced. “Home sweet home. We’ll take your things upstairs, and then Melinda can give you the grand tour while I start on some dinner. I’m sure you two are hungry.” They piled out of the car and through the front door. Inside, the house was even better. The living room had soft, clean carpet, and the stairs leading up to the second story hardly creaked at all. Mrs. Coulson led them down the hall and opened two doors.

“This room is yours, Jemma,” she said, gesturing to the room on the right. “Phil and I have been getting it ready the past few days, ever since Vic let us know you might be coming. We weren’t exactly sure what you would like, but hopefully it’s all right. We can go shopping this weekend to pick out some things to help you personalize it, if you want.” She then turned and indicated the room on the left. “Skye, I want to apologize. We didn’t know you’d be coming home with us too, otherwise we’d have tried to make the space more inviting. This is usually our guest room, but it’s all yours now. We’ll definitely need to do some shopping this weekend to make it more comfortable.” Skye could hardly believe her eyes. Mrs. Coulson was acting like the room wasn’t already amazing. It had a bed, a desk, and a dresser, and a plain blue rug on the floor. The bed was made up with a quilt that matched the rug, and the walls were painted in a similar shade of blue.

“It’s really nice,” Skye told her, moving into the room gingerly and running her hand across the quilt. “I’ve never had my own room before.” A funny look crossed Mrs. Coulson’s face, but Skye was too busy bounding across the hall to see Jemma’s room to pay it much mind. Jemma’s room had similar furniture to Skye’s, with the addition of a squashy-looking armchair in the corner and a bookshelf already half full of books. The rug, bedspread, and walls in here were all done in shades of soft green.

“Vic told us that you like to read, so we tried to get as many books as we could,” Mrs. Coulson explained. “Phil had some ideas based on some of the things his students like to read, and then a woman at the bookstore helped us pick out some others. We can always get some other ones later, too.” Jemma was quiet, and Skye knew she was doing her best to take in all the newness at once. Skye couldn’t get over how nice everything was. She had never known a foster family who put so much effort into a room before the kids even got there.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house, or would you rather have some time to unpack before dinner?” Mrs. Coulson asked. Jemma didn’t say anything, and Skye could see her hand start twitching, looking for something to tap. She was starting to feel overwhelmed.

“Um, maybe we could just stay here for now,” Skye suggested, hoping that Mrs. Coulson hadn’t noticed Jemma starting to spiral.

“Sure, that’s okay,” Mrs. Coulson said, moving towards the door. “I’ll be downstairs with Phil in the kitchen if you need either one of us. We’ll let you know when dinner is ready, and then maybe we can see the rest of the house after we’ve all had something to eat.” She turned and left then, and Skye felt her shoulders release a tension she hadn’t known she was holding.

“It’s really nice here,” Skye prompted, hoping that she could get Jemma to start talking. “And we have our own rooms. That’s a first.” Jemma nodded, but her jaw was tight, and her eyes were starting to dart around the room. She seemed to be holding her breath, which wasn’t exactly a good sign.

“Here,” said Skye. She kept her voice low and quiet, and moved gently over to Jemma’s new bed. “Feel how soft this bedspread is. That’s a good place to start.” Jemma took a shaky step over to the bed and joined Skye in lazily dragging her fingers across the fabric. After a few times back and forth across the bed, Jemma moved her hand over to the bedpost and began to tap on the wood. _Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap._

“That’s a good sound,” Skye remarked. The wood was nice and sturdy, and the taps that came from it sounded solid. Jemma nodded again, and managed to release a breath. Slowly, the two girls made their way around the room, Skye encouraging Jemma to touch and tap as many new things as she could. Neither one was exactly sure why, but the act of connecting with everything physically seemed to help calm some of Jemma’s nerves. Once they had moved through the room, Skye knelt in front of the bookshelf and beckoned for Jemma to join her. Jemma tapped lightly on the side of the shelf as they perused the many books that the Coulsons had stocked.

“ _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ ,” Jemma said, running a finger on her other hand down the spine and allowing a smile to take shape for the first time since they had arrived. “My mum read that one to me.”

Skye grinned, and pointed to a thick stack, “ _Harry Potter_. All seven.”

Jemma giggled. “You know there are other books out there, don’t you? You can read more than just those seven.”

“Other books are boring,” Skye teased. “Harry Potter books are literally the only books I can finish.”

“You’re missing out,” Jemma chided, sliding _Anne of Green Gables_ off the shelf. “You might like this one. Anne is like you in some ways.”

“Debatable. I, for example, would never wear a hat like that,” laughed Skye, gesturing to the cover illustration. Jemma joined her laughter, taking the book back and replacing it on the shelf.

“Fine, just shut yourself off from the wonders of literature,” Jemma lamented, her tone melodramatic. A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, and Skye was grateful to see Jemma’s playful side reemerging.

“Jemma, Skye, dinner’s ready!” called Mr. Coulson’s voice from downstairs. Both girls got to their feet and retraced their earlier steps back down to the kitchen. The kitchen was cozy, with a scrubbed wooden table against the back wall. Four bowls sat on the table, along with glasses and silverware. A warm, buttery smell wafted from the stovetop.

“Grab a seat, girls,” Mr. Coulson said as he whisked a platter from the stove over to the table. As Skye came in closer, she saw that the plate was stacked high with grilled cheese sandwiches and the bowls were each filled with steaming tomato soup. “I know it’s not the fanciest of first meals, but I wanted to make something that I knew you two would like. Plus, I was starving, so I didn’t want to wait too long for anything to cook,” confessed Mr. Coulson.

Everyone took their seats, but Skye and Jemma waited for the Coulsons to make the first move before digging in. Different foster families had different ways of doing dinner. Some wanted you to serve yourself, some made kids wait until the adults had gotten their food, and some made you pray before you could start. Mrs. Coulson noticed their hesitation.

“You can start eating whenever you like, girls,” she said. “Who’d like a sandwich?” Soon, sandwiches were passed around, and everyone tucked into the comforting meal.

“These are really good grilled cheeses, Mr. Coulson,” Skye told him between bites. “Maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

“I do pride myself on my outstanding sandwich skills,” he said with a wink. “And Skye, you know you can call me Phil, right? Mr. Coulson is what my students call me.” Skye blushed slightly, but nodded and took another bite. She would have to get used to calling an adult by his first name, but she did have to admit that Phil sounded better than Mr. Coulson.

“And you’re welcome to call me Melinda,” added Mrs. Coulson. “Or May, if you like that better. That’s what a lot of my friends call me.”

“May?” Skye asked. “Why May?”

“It’s my last name. I didn’t change it when we got married, and it’s shorter to say than Melinda,” she explained. Skye quirked her head to one side. She had just assumed that the woman went by Mrs. Coulson, but she realized that she had never actually heard her be introduced that way, except by Sister Margaret, who Skye knew from experience had a bad habit of calling people the wrong thing. She mulled over the name options in her head, and thought that it might be easier to call her new foster mother May than Melinda. Something about Melinda seemed too flouncy for the serious woman, except for when Mr. Coulson – Phil – said it.

They finished eating in a comfortable silence. It was almost as though the adults could tell that Skye and Jemma were overtired and overstimulated, and Skye welcomed the chance to sit without having to answer questions or make small talk. She was sure Jemma was feeling the same way. Once everyone had eaten their fill, Phil rose and began to clear the table.

“I’ll take care of these dishes, if you want to show the girls the rest of the house, Mel,” he said, stacking plates on his arm. May nodded and got up from the table as well.

“I’ll keep it short,” she promised. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure you two are tired.” Skye and Jemma rose dutifully, and followed May as she showed them the living room, a den in the back that had an enormous couch and a big TV, and a room with two desks and a computer that she explained was her and Phil’s office. Upstairs, she pointed out the door that led to her and Phil’s bedroom, which was down the hall from Skye and Jemma’s rooms, and the hall bathroom.

“Phil and I have a separate bathroom attached to our bedroom,” she told them, “so this one is all yours. Do you two have any questions? Do you need anything before bed tonight?” Skye and Jemma both shook their heads. “Okay. I’m going to help Phil finish cleaning up the kitchen, and then we’ll both be up for bed. We’ll check on you before we turn in, yes?” The girls agreed, and May turned to go back downstairs.

In hardly any time at all, Skye and Jemma had both showered, changed into pajamas (which for each was really just a big t-shirt with the St. Agnes logo on it), and brushed their teeth. A glance in the bathroom mirror revealed that the place on Skye’s cheek where Michaela had socked her was starting to bruise over, but there wasn’t really anything to be done about it then. After getting ready for bed, Skye fished the rest of her clothes out of their duffel bag and stuffed them into a few of the dresser drawers in her room. She would take the time to sort them out tomorrow, when she wasn’t quite so tired. Once that was done, Skye crossed back over the hall and poked her head into Jemma’s room. Jemma was carefully sliding her encyclopedia out of her backpack. She set the massive book on the desk but didn’t open it or pull out the star map.

“Keeping the stars safe for now?” Skye asked. Jemma nodded.

“I don’t like to bring them out too early. It’s better to know how a place is going to be before I put them up.”

“Understandable,” Skye said. “I guess this is where we’re supposed to say goodnight.”

“Suppose so,” Jemma murmured. She plucked absentmindedly at the hem of her t-shirt.

“I think this place is going to be okay,” said Skye. She wasn’t sure if she needed to say it for Jemma’s benefit or for her own, but it felt like those words needed to be said out loud. “Who knows how long we’ll be here for, but at least we’re together.”

“Agreed,” nodded Jemma. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Skye said. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to leave and go to her own, empty room. “Well, goodnight, Jemma.”

Jemma crossed the room and hugged Skye, sharp and tight. “Goodnight, Skye.”

* * *

Back in her own room, Skye pulled down the sheets and climbed into bed. It felt like she was being swallowed by a cloud, which was a pretty nice feeling to have. She was still for only a second or two before she popped up and leaned over to unzip her backpack. Rummaging around, she managed to find a couple pieces of what she hoped would eventually become a fan for the inside of her computer. Rolling back into bed, she began to fiddle with the tiny motor from an electric toothbrush she had disassembled in one hand and the bent fan spokes she had plucked out of a crushed remote-control helicopter in the other. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to get the whole thing to fit together, but she was hoping that it wouldn’t be too hard. She knew all good computers needed to have a fan, otherwise the hard drive would overheat and the whole thing would crash. She wasn’t sure how long she had distracted herself with her fan parts, but it felt like only a few minutes had passed when a gentle knock came from her door. Skye stuffed her pieces under the pillow just as Phil’s smiling head peered around the door.

“Hey Skye, just checking in. Melinda and I are going to get ready for bed. Do you need anything before we turn out the lights?” Skye shook her head and offered a half smile to him in return. Phil must have noticed her reticence, because he stepped into the room and came to sit at the foot of her bed.

“I know it can be hard to come into a new place and start over all the time,” he said gently. “For the record, Melinda and I are very grateful that you decided to take a chance on us. That takes a lot of courage.” Skye looked down at her hands and fiddled with a loose thread on her quilt. She didn’t want to get emotional in front of Phil, no matter how nice he seemed.

“We’ll take things as slow as we need to,” he continued. “You just tell me and Melinda what you need, and we’ll do our very best to make sure that you get it. We don’t want to push anything.” Phil smiled at her then, his crinkly-eyed beam of a smile that made Skye feel like, despite all the doubts and fears that were coursing through her, everything would turn out okay. It was a little unsettling to feel so reassured by a man who was basically a stranger to her, but there wasn’t really anything Skye could do about it except nod back at him. Fortunately, Phil didn’t seem to need anything more, and he got up to leave. With a bidding of “goodnight,” he flicked the light switch and closed the door, leaving Skye very much alone in the big, empty-feeling room.

Skye tried her best to lie still and force herself to go to sleep. She was certainly tired, after all the excitement of the day, but her brain was still on overdrive, buzzing like a hornets’ nest of thoughts. Just a few hours ago, she had been walking back to St. Agnes from school, dreading having to work on her social studies homework, and now she was in a cloud bed across town, down the hall from a set of brand new foster parents. Skye tossed and turned, trying to find a position that would let her drift off to sleep. When that didn’t seem to work, she pulled the fan pieces out from under her pillow and tried to tinker in the dark, without success. She didn’t want to turn on the light, though, because she had no idea what the rules about nighttime were around here.

Frustrated, Skye dropped the fan pieces onto the floor beside her backpack and rolled over once again. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the lights had gone out. Was everyone else already asleep? It was so quiet in the house it was almost painful. At St. Agnes, there was always noise, either from the snuffling of sleeping girls, the movement of the nuns, the rumbling traffic on the street below, or even the creaky old building itself. Here, though, it was like everything was muffled, and it was driving Skye crazy. She kicked off her covers, hoping that maybe if she was cooler she would be able to sleep, but that didn’t help either. Eventually, Skye gave up completely on sleep, and slipped out of bed. The rug felt nice under her bare feet, and did a decent job of keeping her footsteps quiet as she crept to the door. Skye eased the door open, pleased that it didn’t squeak, and then crossed the hallway in a few nimble steps to Jemma’s room. Jemma’s door didn’t squeak when it opened either, and Skye popped her head in as soundlessly as she could. Her eyes were already adjusted to the dark, so a quick look around the room revealed a huddled lump under the covers near the headboard of Jemma’s bed.

“Jemma,” Skye hissed, doing her best to keep her voice undetectable to Phil and May down the hall. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” came a murmur from the direction of the bed, and the lump shifted. Jemma pulled her own covers back to reveal that she was sitting up, her knees pulled to her chest and her back against the headboard. Not exactly the position of someone who was on the verge of sleep, Skye thought. She crossed the room quickly and clambered into bed with Jemma, joining her in sitting at the headboard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Skye admitted. She couldn’t meet Jemma’s eyes as she said it. Skye knew that Jemma knew that she wasn’t as tough as she put on, but even still, it was hard for Skye to admit her struggle out loud.

“Me neither,” said Jemma, leaning in close to Skye. “It’s so different here.”

“Too quiet,” Skye offered. “It’s weird not hearing everybody else around.” She felt Jemma nod next to her. It was comforting to know she wasn’t the only feeling the effects of the suburban silence.

“You could stay in here if you wanted,” Jemma suggested. Her tone was casual, but Skye could tell that she was hoping for a yes as much as Skye had been hoping that Jemma would make the suggestion in the first place.

“That might work,” mused Skye. She tucked her head onto Jemma’s shoulder and snuggled herself down into the blankets. She could feel Jemma’s chest rising and falling with each breath, and the rhythm soothed her somewhat. The buzzing had stopped, at least. Both girls sat in silence for a while, drinking in the comfort of one another’s presence. Before long, Skye felt her eyes start to get heavy, and her head drooped slightly on Jemma’s shoulder. Without a word, they both shimmied around until they were actually lying down, each one nestled into the other, and soon they drifted off to sleep.


	3. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for hospital

She opened her eyes blearily and blinked a few times to clear the fog from her brain. She couldn’t figure out where she was, but everything was bright and white and made her head hurt. As she pulled her consciousness back into grasp, she realized that it wasn't just her head - everything hurt. Her head, her arms, her leg, her chest. It was hard to breathe, and there was something plasticky on her nose. She tried to take a breath and felt a sharp, searing pain shoot through her ribs. A strangled, wounded sound clawed its way out of her throat, and hot tears burned in the corners of her eyes. What was going on? Why did everything hurt so much?

The noise that had escaped her caught the attention of someone who was in the room with her, someone she hadn’t noticed until now. The woman was wearing soft-looking scrubs, and the word “nurse” sluggishly floated to the top of her torpid brain. There was a nurse and she was hurt, so maybe she was in…

“Barbara, honey, try not to move. You’re in the hospital with some pretty serious injuries.” The hospital. She was in the hospital. Why was she in the hospital?

The nurse spoke again, and it took all of her concentration to process what the nurse was saying. “I’m Monica, I’m one of the nurses here. We’re going to take good care of you, okay, so just try to relax.” Relax. She didn’t feel relaxed, she felt hurt and scared. Why was she scared? Why was her heart racing so fast? How did she get here? She tried to raise her head to get a better look around, but it felt like her bones had been turned to lead, and she couldn’t find the strength to move. She tried to open her mouth to speak and felt a soreness in her jaw and another flash of pain in her ribs. A gurgling whine of pain was all she could get out. The corners of the nurse’s mouth turned down. Was she sad?

“Barbara, I’m going to need you to stay calm. Try to stay still, and take shallow breaths. A couple of your ribs are cracked, and one punctured your lung. The doctors operated on it, and you’re going to be okay, but you need to take it easy.” She felt so confused. Nothing was making any sense.

“Wha-aa-ah ha-aa-app-en?” she managed to choke out. Her mouth felt like it was full of sand and her tongue felt three times too big. Every sound she made caused another flash of pain to flick through her chest.

“Just rest, honey. Just stay still and rest. Everything is going to be fine.” Fine. Fine. Fine. A buzzing noise was building in her head, like a swarm of bees. She felt so tired. Everything is going to be fine. She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.


	4. The Meeting with Miss Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief mention of abuse

When Skye awoke the next morning, the grey dawn light was streaming thinly in through the window, casting the room in a fuzzy, heather film. Jemma was still asleep beside her, her breathing deep and slow. Skye eased herself out of the bed, so as not to wake Jemma, and tiptoed over to the door. She pressed her ear against it, but couldn’t make out any sounds of stirring on the other side. Maybe May and Phil weren’t awake yet, either. Skye cracked the door, and a quick peak out into the hall didn’t reveal any signs of life, so she darted back over to her own bedroom, closing the door behind her. She didn’t think they would mind that she and Jemma had spent the night together, but you could never really tell what was going to bother certain foster families. Maybe they would be upset that she hadn’t used her own bed, and that the nice, big room had gone to waste. Maybe they wouldn’t like the two of them spending so much time together. Maybe they didn’t want the girls leaving their rooms during the night. Skye shook her head, trying to clear the maybes from her brain. It didn’t matter now, she was back in her own room and no one would ever be the wiser about the previous night. Skye got back in her bed, bringing her fan pieces along with her. She didn’t really expect to go back to sleep at this point, so she might as well try to make some progress. After futzing around for quite some time, Skye was eventually able to straighten out the spokes and get them each connected to each other and to the rotating piece of the motor. She didn’t have a battery, so she couldn’t be sure that the fan would work once the motor was hooked up to some power, but she was pleased with her handiwork.

She got up then, and set the newly constructed fan on the desk to admire it. As she moved around the room, Skye realized that the light outside had changed drastically, and a bright, yellow sun was peaking through her curtains. It had to be close to time to get up by now, surely. Skye pulled open her dresser drawer and found the pile of clothes she had dumped in unceremoniously last night. Quickly, she sorted through them, putting holey socks and underwear in the top drawer, her three t-shirts in the middle drawer, and her pair of jeans and shorts in the bottom one. Things weren’t folded, but she figured it would be good enough if they were sorted at least. It didn’t take her long to get dressed either, as she pulled yesterday’s clothes back on. They weren’t really dirty, and she knew it would be better to save her clean clothes for later, in case she had to wait a long time to do laundry.

Once she was dressed and had run a brush through her tangles, Skye decided that she couldn’t wait any longer, and she cracked open her door. No one was in the hallway, but Skye could hear someone moving around downstairs. Some foster families didn’t like it when you left your room too early, but Skye had a feeling that it might be okay here. If whoever was downstairs didn’t want her up yet, she could always just come back to her room until it was time, hopefully without any trouble. Neither Phil nor May struck her as the type to yell or hit, based on her initial read of them, although she knew you could never assume.

Skye headed down the stairs, and in the direction of whoever was making noise. Her search led her to the kitchen, where Phil was flitting back and forth between the stove, the counter, and the fridge. He was absorbed in his work, and Skye could see that there was a griddle with pancakes sizzling away on the stovetop and a tea kettle heating up. The smells were intoxicating. She took a tentative step into the kitchen and cleared her throat to let Phil know she was there.

He turned around at the noise, and his face broke into what Skye was realizing must be his signature grin.

“Good morning, Skye!” he chirped, grabbing a spatula off the counter and waving it in her direction. “Your eye doesn’t look so hot, how does it feel?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Skye said. She had almost forgotten about her shiner from yesterday’s scuffle.

“That’s good to hear. So, given our conversation yesterday, I thought it might be good to make some pancakes this morning. How dark do you like them, regular dark, really dark, or burnt?” The twinkle in his eye let Skye know that he was teasing, and she smiled back at him.

“I forgot to ask you last night if it was okay for us to leave our rooms once we woke up,” Skye started. “But it seems like maybe that’s all right?”

“Of course,” Phil said, his eyebrows scrunching up slightly in confusion. “You can go anywhere you like in the house, whenever you need to. There’s no rule about times where you have to be in your room. I hope you weren’t worried about that.” Skye just shrugged and pretended to be interested in watching the batter bubble up on the griddle.

“It’s just different depending on the foster home,” she finally offered. “You have to learn the rules of each place pretty quick.” Phil made a thoughtful sound, but didn’t press the matter.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, providing a pivot for the conversation. Skye froze for a second, shuffling through her potential answers, then settled quickly on an evasive truth.

“Good, once I fell asleep,” she said.

“And how long did that take?” Phil wanted to know. He scooped several pancakes off of the pan and stacked them on a nearby plate, then went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. Skye appreciated that he was content to work and talk at the same time. It made it feel like there was less pressure when he wasn’t focused solely on her. Still, she wasn’t interested in lingering too long on last night and accidentally letting slip the details of her sleepover with Jemma.

“I don’t know, it was hard to keep track of time. Not that long, I guess,” she said with another shrug. She changed the subject, hoping that it wasn’t totally obvious what she was doing. “Would it be okay if I went to tell Jemma that she doesn’t have to wait in her room in the mornings?”

“Absolutely,” Phil said. “It would make me very happy to see her lovely face down here with us.” Skye scampered off, back upstairs and to Jemma’s room. She knocked lightly, then opened the door without waiting for a response. Inside the room, Jemma was perched on the edge of her neatly made bed, fully dressed and awake. Her face looked strained until she saw that it was Skye who was opening the door, at which point it morphed into a soft smile.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d gone,” Jemma chided her. “You’re too sneaky for your own good.”

“I woke up early and didn’t want to wake you,” Skye explained. “Plus, I figured I should be back in my own room in case they checked in on us or something. They didn’t though. I didn’t go back to sleep, and no one came by the whole time. I figured out how to put the fan together while I was waiting, I’ll have to show you later. Also, Phil is downstairs, and he says that we can leave our rooms whenever we want to.”

“That’s good,” said Jemma. “I was running out of things to count. There are 64 floorboards in here, and 32 books on my shelf, and 142 bands woven into the rug. I was hoping it would be 144, since that’s a square, but the rug isn’t square, so I guess that makes sense.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Skye grinned. “Come on, there’s pancakes.”

* * *

When the two girls reentered the kitchen a few minutes later, they found Phil putting the finishing touches on the table and May already seated, a mug of tea in her hand. Phil was dressed slightly more casually than he had been the day before, still in a button-down shirt, but without the coat and tie, and May was in workout clothes, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. May smiled at the two girls over the rim of her mug, and nodded towards the table.

“How did you sleep?” she asked as Phil, Skye, and Jemma all sat down. Phil whisked the tinfoil that had been keeping a stack of pancakes warm away with a flourish and a goofy grin.

“Um, good,” Skye replied as Phil started spearing pancakes and dropping them onto her and Jemma’s plates. Jemma didn’t say anything, but nodded in agreement with Skye’s assessment. Jemma was a terrible liar, and even something as simple as leaving out the whole truth could make Jemma lose her cool, so Skye understood why she opted for the silent response. It was probably safer that way for both of them.

“And how’s your eye?” May asked, peering over at Skye’s cheek. She didn’t try to touch it, which Skye appreciated.

“It’s fine,” she said. She tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, hopeful that yesterday’s fight wouldn’t become the topic of conversation. May seemed to take the cue of Skye’s short reply, and didn’t press the matter. As the four dug into their breakfasts, May gave Phil a pointed look, and he cleared his throat.

“Right, so we wanted to give you two a rundown of what the day is going to look like today,” he said, loading his fork carefully with pancake and strawberry hunks. “After we finish up with breakfast, Miss Hand is going to be coming by, just to meet with all four of us, make sure everything is order, answer any questions we have, all that good stuff. Once we finish up with that, I’m going to take your two up to the school so that we can get you registered and all set up for tomorrow, which is when you’ll both be starting at Manitowoc Middle. Then we thought maybe we could all meet up for lunch, maybe do some back-to-school shopping, and call it a day. How does that all sound?” Skye was impressed, if not a little overwhelmed. She had kind of assumed that once the pleasantries were out of the way, May and Phil would go to work and get back to their regular lives, and she and Jemma would have time alone until they had to start going to school. She snuck a look at Jemma, to see if she looked like she might answer for herself, but it didn’t seem as though that would be the case.

“Okay, I guess,” Skye said, shrugging one shoulder. She didn’t want to speak for Jemma, but she wasn’t offering any reply herself. She just kept picking around at her plate, her eyes glued to the table. She had eaten most of what Phil had served her, at least, as had Skye. They knew better than to skip a meal that was being provided.

“Great,” said Phil, popping his last forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Then it sounds like we’ve got a plan!” He glanced at his watch as he chewed, and turned his attention to May. “Honey, it looks like you’ve got enough time to grab a shower before Vic gets here, if you want. We can take care of the dishes.” May smiled and stood up, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she passed him on her way out of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” she said. “I owe you one.”

“I’ll add it to your tab,” he joked back, resting his own hand on top of hers. “Now then, let’s get to these dishes.”

It didn’t take long for Phil, Skye, and Jemma to clear the table and take care of the dishes, with Jemma washing, Skye drying, and Phil putting things back into the cupboards. As Skye toweled off the last glass, it slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor, the tinkling sound of shattering glassware cutting through the air. Skye winced at the noise and heard Jemma suck in a fearful breath behind her. Skye immediately dropped to her knees to try to clean up the broken glass from the floor.

“I’m sorry, Phil, I didn’t mean—”

“Skye, hey, it’s okay. It was an accident,” Phil said gently. “Here, get back, I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll get the broom.”

“No, it’s okay, I can clean it up, I promise. I’ll pay for it too, I’m so sorry.” Skye felt a tidal wave of apologetic words tumble out of her mouth. It was like she couldn’t stop talking as she continued to try and scoop the shards into her bare hands. She could hear Jemma’s shaky, rapid breaths and the sound of tapping, and she began to work faster, trying to clean up the mess before Jemma hyperventilated or Phil got mad.

“Skye!” Phil returned, but his voice was too loud and too sharp. Skye jumped and flinched backwards, her hands instinctively retracting into a defensive position. She felt a sting erupt on her palm, and she knew she had cut herself because she moved too quickly and without paying enough attention.

“Skye, seriously, just back up, I really don’t want you to—” Phil stopped short when he noticed her reaction. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I can take care of the glass, see?” He waggled the broom back and forth. Jemma whimpered from somewhere behind Skye, and Phil’s face fell.

“What’s going on, guys?” He leaned the broom up against the counter and held his hands up in a surrender gesture. “It’s okay, it’s just a broken glass. It was an accident.” Neither Jemma nor Skye spoke for a moment, both girls trying to get ahold of their wild emotions. Finally, Jemma’s quavery voice broke the silence.

“You’re… you’re not angry?”

Phil looked heartbroken. “No, sweetie, not at all, I promise. I’m so sorry I raised my voice, I was just worried about Skye cutting herself on the glass. I’m not mad, no one is in trouble. I break things all the time around here, accidents just happen.” He knelt down on the floor in front of Skye, and when he spoke again, it was in an even quieter tone. “Here, Skye, back up a little bit. Watch out for the glass.” Skye scooted back until she bumped into Jemma’s leg, and Jemma then took her upper arm and helped her to her feet. Phil took the broom then and began sweeping the shards into a pile on the floor, his movements slow and deliberate.

“There’s a dustpan under the sink,” he explained, using his free hand to point the cabinet out. “Would one of you hand it to me?” Skye made to move to the sink, but Jemma put a hand on her arm to stop her and went to the sink instead, bringing the dustpan to Phil shyly.

“There,” he said after a minute, a fresh smile cracking onto his face. “Good as new.” He stood then, and dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash with a satisfying finality. When he disappeared to put the broom back, Jemma seized the opportunity to inspect Skye’s hand. There was an angry gash across her palm where the glass had sliced into her, and blood was running down the side of her wrist.

“That looks like it hurts,” Jemma said sympathetically.

“I mean, it doesn’t feel great,” Skye quipped. “But I’ve had worse.” Jemma coaxed Skye over to the sink and turned on the water, indicating that Skye should rinse the cut. They were both too busy at the sink to realize that Phil had returned and was watching them. Skye rinsed her hand, and Jemma dampened a paper towel to dab at the cut.

“Hold it on there,” Jemma instructed, cradling Skye’s hands in her own. “We can wrap it in a minute to stop the bleeding.”

“I can bring you a band-aid,” said Phil. He kept his tone level, so as not to startle the girls again. Skye and Jemma both wheeled around, noticing Phil for the first time. “I appreciate how well you take care of each other,” he added, “but why didn’t you tell me you got hurt, Skye?” Skye just shrugged. She couldn’t explain why she didn’t say anything, it was more of a feeling. The same feeling she’d had for as long as she could remember, that no one, especially adults, really cared about her that much. That Jemma was the only person she could count on, and she was the only person Jemma could count on. That foster parents like you better when you’re quiet and don’t cause any trouble and don’t draw attention to yourself. She didn’t know how to say all of it, and she still wasn’t sure how much of it Phil would even want to hear. He had been nice so far, but he was still a stranger, and the scare of the glass hadn’t helped to ease her uncertainty.

“A band-aid would be good,” Jemma finally said, snapping Skye out of her thoughts. She kept her eyes on Skye, but her voice was stronger. “The cut will heal much faster if it’s dressed properly.”

“One band-aid coming up,” Phil agreed. He disappeared upstairs, giving the girls another moment alone. Skye leaned into Jemma, the tension leaving her body for the first time since she had dropped the glass. Jemma brought her hand to the counter and began to tap softly, the sound almost soothing.

“Sorry,” Skye murmured, turning slightly so that her cheek was nestled in the crook of Jemma’s neck. “I shouldn’t have dropped the glass, but I definitely shouldn’t have freaked out when Phil said my name like that. He just startled me, you know?” Skye felt Jemma nod. She knew that Jemma knew. That she understood. “He doesn’t seem like he’d hit us, but when he raised his voice, I just…” Skye trailed off.

“Fight or flight,” Jemma supplied. “It’s a natural instinct. It startled me, too.”

“I’m sorry he got the broom out,” Skye continued. “I’m sure that didn’t help things—” The sound of Phil’s feet on the stairs cut Skye’s apology short, and both girls clammed up. Skye stood up straight, and Jemma tucked her tapping hand into her pocket, out of sight.

“Band-aid!” Phil announced, brandishing the bandage. “And I found some ointment, too, so that the cut doesn’t get infected.” He made to start dressing Skye’s injury, but she reflexively flinched away from his touch. Phil tried his best not to look hurt, but Skye knew she had upset him.

“Sorry,” she said again, for what felt like the millionth time that morning. “It’s not you, it’s just… Jemma usually patches me up, you know?”

“Sure, sure, I understand,” Phil said, nodding. “That’s fine.” He passed the ointment and bandage over to Jemma “I just hope you know that I’m always happy to do that kind of thing. That’s kind of one of my jobs, so I’m always here to help.”

Jemma made quick work of the cut, coating it in a layer of medicine and wrapping it snuggly in the bandage. She had attended to many of Skye’s injuries over the years, patching her up from scuffles with orphanage bullies and helping her to recover from abusive foster homes at St. Agnes. Skye was sure she looked like a poster child for battered foster kids at this point, with her bruised face from yesterday and her sliced up hand from this morning. It was probably a good thing Phil and May weren’t making them go to school today, because she would surely draw unwelcome attention looking the way she did.

The three stood in an awkward silence then, no one sure what to say next. Luckily, the awkwardness was alleviated by the sound of May on the stairs, and her arrival moments later. She was dressed professionally, in a neat-looking suit, and her hair was down from its earlier ponytail.

“What’d I miss?” she asked, looking from face to face and taking in Phil’s discomfort and Skye and Jemma’s skittishness.

“There was an accident involving a broken glass. Skye hurt her hand trying to help clean it up,” Phil supplied, gesturing vaguely towards Skye’s hand. “Did you know that Jemma is an excellent nurse?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” May said. She smiled at Jemma, but her eyes were still inquisitive, flashing from Phil to Skye and back. “Are you all right?” Skye nodded, a little embarrassed by all the fuss that she had caused with a single dropped glass. Still, as embarrassing as the situation had been, she couldn’t deny that the outcome had been much tamer than it would have been if she was in a different foster home. A brief flash of a belt buckle across her back because of a broken vase crossed her mind, and she gave herself a good mental shake to clear the memory. This place was different. May and Phil had already started to demonstrate that, as hard as it was to remind herself.

“Well, is there something you’d like to do while we wait?” Phil asked, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “We could—” He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. “I should have figured. Vic’s always on time,” he chuckled. May went to get the door, and Phil ushered Skye and Jemma into the living room. The girls sank into the marshmallowy couch, sitting side by side and close enough that their shoulders were touching. Out of the corner of her eye, Skye noticed Jemma’s hand snake down and start tapping absent-mindedly on the front of the couch. As Phil eased himself into an armchair, May came into the room, Victoria Hand behind her.

The girls’ social worker was a tall, imposing woman in her late 30s. She wore sharp, black glasses and a serious look on her face, but her dark hair had streaks of bright red in it that hinted at her more spontaneous nature. Of all the social workers Skye had had, she definitely liked Miss Hand the best. Even though she looked stern most of the time, Skye knew that she was kind, and that she tried her hardest to find good homes for all the kids she looked after. She was even cool enough to dye her hair, which raised Skye’s opinion of her considerably, in addition to the fact that she never called Skye the stupid name the nuns had given her.

“Hello Skye, Jemma. It’s good to see you both.” Her voice didn’t reveal much emotion as she greeted them, but the corners of her mouth tugged up. Both girls smiled and waved as Miss Hand took a seat in the other armchair. May came and sat on the couch with them, but her attention was fixed on Miss Hand.

“It’s been too long, Vic,” she said. “You and Izzy ought to come by for dinner sometime, catch up.” Skye had no idea who Izzy was, but the idea of Miss Hand coming over for dinner amused her. She wondered what the buttoned-up social worker would be like off the clock.

“Definitely,” Phil chimed in. “We’ve hardly seen you two since Izzy transferred to the Two Rivers precinct.”

“I know, I know,” Miss Hand said, laughing a little. Skye looked at Jemma, eyebrows raised. This was a first. “Izzy loves the smaller department, though. She was ready to slow down a little, I think, and the investigations team over there is a great fit.”

“Glad to hear it,” May nodded. “We miss her on our force, of course, but it sounds like it was a good move.”

“It was,” Miss Hand agreed. “And speaking of good moves, how are you girls settling in here?” Skye was a little taken aback by the sudden shift from small talk to business, and it took her a second to process and respond.

“Oh, uh, good,” she said, trying to make her mouth and her brain catch up to the conversation. Miss Hand nodded and turned her attention to Jemma, waiting for a response from her as well. She never let anyone else speak for Jemma, or any of her kids. Skye had always liked that about her.

“Good,” Jemma echoed.

“Wonderful,” Miss Hand said, a real smile flitting across her face. “Jemma, when May and Phil here reached out about fostering, I thought of you right away, so I’m happy to hear it’s going well so far. And Skye, I know this wasn’t a part of the original plan, but I must say I’m delighted that you met Phil and May yesterday.” Skye cocked her head slightly, confused by Miss Hand’s words. “I’ve been trying to see about finding a placement for the two of you together for a while now,” Miss Hand explained, “since you two are such a good pair, but I didn’t realize that May and Phil were thinking about fostering more than one child at the same time, otherwise I would have suggested it initially. So really, it seems like it was good fortune that brought you both here.” Skye mulled over what Miss Hand said. It definitely felt like good fortune that she and Jemma were together, but she felt like they hadn’t been in this home long enough yet to say if it was good luck that they were here yet. She felt a little guilty for thinking that, because Phil and May had been so nice so far, but she knew that could change after a while.

“You thought I would be a good fit?” Jemma’s question interrupted Skye’s musings. With a pang, Skye thought about what must be going through Jemma’s head. Usually, foster families picked Jemma out because they thought she was going to be easy. A polite genius of a kid who had some bad luck, rather than a bunch of behavior issues and baggage. That all went out the window when they realized that, while Jemma was whip smart, she was also just as much of a handful as the “bad kids” they had wanted to avoid. Maybe Jemma didn’t talk back or break rules, but she got overwhelmed, she didn’t say much to anyone besides Skye, she tapped and fidgeted and counted and did all other kinds of odd things without even realizing what she was doing. If things weren’t right, if they didn’t go according to plan or didn’t fit with how Jemma thought they should be, it could set her off and send her into a spiral. Skye didn’t care about any of that, of course. She cared more about how kind Jemma was, how clever she was, how funny she could be when she wanted to, and how she made Skye feel safer than any adult she had ever met. But most foster families didn’t see Jemma the way Skye did, so for Miss Hand to pick out Phil and May as a match for Jemma, rather than them picking her without knowing her first, must have filled Jemma with reassurance and hope.

“Absolutely,” Miss Hand said with confidence. “I’ve known them both for a long time, and I know that they will take very good care of you.”

“How do you know each other?” Skye wanted to know. She hadn’t meant to ask that, but the question had flown out of her mouth before she realized. She was curious, she had to admit, and no one seemed angry at the question, so maybe it was okay that she asked.

“Well, let’s see,” Miss Hand said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if May met Izzy or me first, but she and Izzy used to work together, before Izzy transferred, and May and I used to work on cases together, back before May made detective… either way, we all met through work, and we’ve been friends ever since.”  
“You’re a detective?” Skye was impressed.

“Yes,” May said. “Did I not tell you that last night? I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve been a detective with the Manitowoc PD for several years now. Before that, I was a police officer, and a lot of times Vic and I would work together on cases that involved kids.”

“Who’s Izzy?” Skye asked. She was kind of enjoying the role reversal, asking her social worker and foster parents questions, rather than the other way around.

“My wife,” Miss Hand replied, a touch of pink creeping onto her cheeks. “She’s a police officer, too.”

“You’re married?” Skye’s jaw dropped. She had never considered her social worker’s life in so much detail. Her name was _Miss_ Hand, to be fair, though. Next to her, Jemma let a giggle slip.

“Yes, I am, although I don’t usually talk about it with the kids I work with,” Miss Hand said pointedly. She cleared her throat, and pulled a pair of file folders out of her bag, signaling to Skye that the conversation was over. Both folders were hefty, cinched shut with rubber bands and binder clips, although one was about twice as thick as the other. Skye knew that one was hers. Not only had she been in the system longer than Jemma, she caused a lot more trouble as well.

“I’ve brought over Skye and Jemma’s files for you two to peruse,” said Miss Hand as she passed the folders to May. “These are the originals, so I’ll have to take them back with me, but you’ll receive an email copy by end of day.” May set the folders on the coffee table, unopened. Skye had to admit she respected May’s self-control. Most foster parents were eager to dig into the files and find all the things wrong with their kids. She appreciated that May seemed like she would rather focus on the conversation at hand than start rifling through every bad thing Skye had ever done.

“Skye, Jemma, you know the drill,” Miss Hand continued. “You’ll be expected to follow all of Phil and May’s rules, you must go to school while you’re here. You have my number if there’s something that you need, but Phil and May are your foster parents, so they should be able to help you with most things. Do you have any questions for me, or for Phil or May?” Skye opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Miss Hand clarified: “Questions about fostering, Skye.” Skye closed her mouth and slumped back into the couch a bit. None of her questions met that criteria. Miss Hand took her defeated body language as a no, and turned to Jemma, who just shook her head, eyes on the floor and finger tapping.

“Well, all right then. Girls, if you could give us a few moments alone, I’ll be sure to say goodbye to the both of you before I leave,” Miss Hand told them. Dutifully, Skye and Jemma rose from the couch and made their way towards the stairs. This was part of the routine: Miss Hand always had to speak with the foster parents separately, so that she could tell them things about their new kids. Skye had managed to sneak back to hear the speech about herself more than once, curious to know what Miss Hand thought of her, but she had never heard the speech about Jemma before. Once she and Jemma were around the corner and out of sight, Skye flashed a mischievous look at Jemma and waggled her eyebrows at her.

“Want to hear what they’re going to talk about?” she asked, trying to entice Jemma into eavesdropping with her. Jemma’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t think we should, Skye. Miss Hand said to give them time alone.”

“They are alone, technically. We’re not in the room, so it counts.” Jemma bit her lip and started tapping her leg.

“Oh, come on,” Skye urged. “Aren’t you curious to know what Miss Hand is going to say about you?”

“She talks about us?”

“Have you never tried to hear before?” Skye was incredulous, but on second thought realized that of course Jemma the rule-follower had never tried to sneak a listen. “Okay, that was a bad question. But look, you have to admit that a part of you is really curious, now.” Jemma thought for a moment, clearly wrestling with the decision. Skye took her wrist and guided her to the corner of the wall that separated them from the adults.

“You can leave if you decide you want to,” Skye whispered, crouching down and craning her ear towards the living room. “You don’t have to stay, but I want to listen.” Jemma hesitated for a moment more, then crouched next to Skye. Her jaw was clenched in an effort to stay silent and probably, Skye thought, from the stress of breaking a rule.

“So how are things going, really?” They heard Miss Hand ask with concern. “I know it’s been less than a day, but things have already taken such an unexpected direction…”

“They seem to be okay, so far,” said Phil. “It’s a little hard to tell, of course. Things are still new, and we haven’t built up any trust yet, but as far as I can tell they’re all right. Skye and Jemma are wonderful girls.”

“They are,” Miss Hand agreed. “They’ve been somewhat difficult to place over the years, but it’s not because they aren’t good kids.”

“What can you tell us about their backgrounds?” May wanted to know.

“There are more details in the files, but I can give you the basics,” said Miss Hand. “Skye was brought to the orphanage as a baby, no name, no records, nothing. The nuns aren’t exactly sure how old she is, but they guessed that she was less than a year old when they got her. Her official name is Mary Sue Poots, assigned to her by the orphanage, but I’m sure she’s already made it clear how much she dislikes it.” There was a chuckle, and Skye could picture the adults all getting a laugh out of that. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Even hearing the mention of her terrible full name made her mouth taste bad, like lemon juice or vinegar.

“She’s got a good heart, I’m sure you can see that from how she is with Jemma, but she’s had a rough go of it. None of her placements have ever stuck for long, either because the homes were bad, or the fit wasn’t right. There have been a few incidents here and there, nothing too serious. Some fighting from time to time, some minor theft. She’s gotten into trouble with computers before, as well. She’s good with them, but she doesn’t always use them for good, if you catch my meaning. She’s smart, but school is a challenge, between the moving around and the fact that she doesn’t always apply herself.”

Skye rolled her eyes, irritated to hear one of her least-favorite descriptions shared. She had lost track of how many teachers had said that she could do so much better if she “just applied herself.” She still didn’t know what that really meant, nor did she know why teachers didn’t understand that she tried hard to do schoolwork, but so often there were just more important or interesting things to do. It didn’t help that they always gave homework that was either way too hard or way too easy. Next to her, Jemma took her hand and offered a squeeze. Skye smiled. Jemma never thought she was dumb or didn’t try hard enough.

“Jemma’s a little trickier,” Miss Hand continued. Skye’s ears pricked up, and she leaned in as close as she dared. She could hear Jemma’s breath catch beside her. “Her parents brought her to the United States when she was four, and they were killed in a car accident when she was six. No other family, so she came to St. Agnes. I have no idea if she always had her… eccentricities, or if they developed after the accident, but I’m sure you’ve noticed some of her more unusual behavior.”

“Just bits and pieces right now,” Phil said. “The finger tapping is the main thing we’ve seen. And she’s very quiet. Oh, and Melinda picked up on the counting almost right away, although I didn’t realize it at first.” Now it was Skye’s turn to squeeze Jemma’s hand in comfort. Neither one was surprised that Phil and May had already noticed Jemma’s quirks, but it still didn’t feel great to hear them say it out loud.

“Yes,” Miss Hand replied. “She’s very bright, does very well in school and on tests, but things like holding a conversation, making eye contact, those are hard for her. She has behaviors that some people find odd, like the tapping. You probably haven’t seen it yet, but she does have episodes from time to time, she’ll shut down. Some foster families have handled that better than others, but so far none have been able to give Jemma the support that she truly needs.”

“And you thought of us?” May asked. “Even though we’ve never done this before?”

“Yes,” said Miss Hand emphatically. “Look, I know you two. You’re some of the best people I know, and I know you’ll make great parents. I have to be honest, the day you told me you were thinking about becoming foster parents, I was over the moon. I know things haven’t always been easy for the both of you…” Miss Hand trailed off for a moment before continuing. “I just mean, I’ve always known that you two are more than cut out for the job. Just be patient with the both of them. They’ve both been through a lot, and they’ll take a while to fully open up, but they’re remarkable kids. Keeping them together is going to help them both a lot, I think. You might have already seen how different they act around each other.”

“Jemma’s much more vocal with Skye,” May remarked. “She’s hardly said a word to us, but I’ve heard her use full sentences with Skye.”

“That’s not uncommon for them,” Miss Hand said. “And Skye has always been a little hotheaded, but she’s very gentle with Jemma.”

“I’ll be honest, Vic, when I saw Skye stick up for Jemma with those girls at the orphanage, something clicked for me,” admitted May.

“Not when we caught her listening at the door before that?” Phil teased. “That’s what did it for me!”

“She reminds me a lot of you, May,” Miss Hand told her. “I really think this place is going to be good for them. I think you’ll be good for them, and frankly, I think they’ll be good for you, too.” There was a long pause before anyone spoke, but Phil finally broke the silence.

“Thank you, Vic. Thank you for thinking of us, thank you for helping us with this whole process. We’re hopeful.” The sound of rustling papers and people getting to their feet drifted around the corner, and Skye and Jemma stood up quickly, dashing up the stairs as silently as they could. Skye flung open the door to Jemma’s room and beckoned Jemma inside, her heart racing.

“Sit, sit!” Skye hissed, pointing to the chair. Jemma obeyed, perching herself on the edge of the seat. Skye flopped down on the floor in front of the bookshelf and pulled a couple of books down, tossing one to Jemma, who, miraculously, caught it. Both girls opened up the books and pretended to read just as a soft knock came at the door.

“Jemma? Skye?” Phil cracked the door and poked his head in. “We’re finished up downstairs. Victoria’s getting ready to leave, if you want to come say goodbye, and then we’ll get ready to head over to the school, okay?” Skye popped up from the floor and stuck the book back on the shelf before Phil could notice that she had been holding it upside down by accident. Jemma was a bit more methodical, replacing her book neatly and re-shelving Skye’s haphazard one as well before following the other two back down to the living room. Behind Phil, both girls gave the other a sideways glance, and Skye had to bite down on her lip to keep from bursting out in laughter.

Goodbyes were exchanged with Miss Hand, who left shortly thereafter without much fanfare, and Phil and May started bustling around the house, getting ready to go. May emerged from her office with a badge on her hip and a briefcase in hand and kissed Phil quickly on the cheek before leaving the house herself.

“Good luck with the school,” she called on her way out. “Call me when you’re finished, Phil, and I’ll meet you all for lunch.”

“Have a good day, honey,” Phil said, waving as May shut the front door. “All right, what do you say we get ready ourselves and go check out the school, hm?” Skye wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to go see her new school, but she knew there was no point in dragging her heels. She grabbed her battered sneakers from her room and shoved her feet in, then met Jemma in the bathroom where they both brushed their teeth. Skye took a long look at her bruised face in the mirror while she brushed, and was pleased to see that, while she did have a decent-sized bruise on her cheek under her eye, it was at least a nice-looking shade of purple.

“What do you think the school will be like?” Skye asked around a mouthful of toothpaste. Jemma spat into the sink and rinsed before answering.

“Who knows? I just hope we can convince them to put us in the same grade…” Skye nodded solemnly before spitting and rinsing as well. Technically, Jemma was a year younger than Skye, and so would normally be in the grade below her, but sometimes, depending on the school and their policies about skipping, Jemma was allowed to jump up a grade. Sometimes there were schools where Skye felt like maybe she should be the one to move down a grade instead, not that she would ever admit that to anybody. The whole school thing was so messed up anyways, it was hard for Skye to really get an honest idea about what grade she actually belonged in. She was pretty sure she was 13, which would put her in the 7th or 8th grade, and she had been in both just this year. At St. Agnes, she was an 8th grader, and Jemma was in 7th, since the school that the nuns sent them to was super strict about kids being in their “proper” grades, whatever that meant. She was just glad no one had tried to put her into high school yet. She knew she wasn’t ready for that at all.

“Skye. Skye?” Jemma’s voice snapped Skye back to attention. “Didn’t you hear Phil? It’s time to go, come on.” Skye shook her head, drawing her focus back to the real world, and tailed Jemma down the stairs to meet Phil.

“Got everything you need?” he asked as he gathered up several stacks of papers and balanced a travel mug on top of them. The girls nodded. “Great!” Phil smiled. “If one of you could grab my keys off the hook by the door, then we’ll be ready to go.”


	5. Funny Fitz

The drive to Manitowoc Middle School wasn’t very long, ten minutes at most. Phil had explained that he used to teach at the middle school before he moved over the high school five years ago, and he spent most of the ride talking about the teachers that he knew there and how much he liked them.

“If you get Mrs. Henry for social studies, you’ll get to do this really cool project on the pyramids where you get to make your own mummy,” he bubbled. “And Mr. DeRosa has some great experiments in science. Not just volcano stuff, you know?” Skye got the sense that maybe Phil was as nervous as she was, given how much he was chattering away. Somehow Phil seeming nervous made her feel slightly calmer, like it was okay to be a little jittery about something this new.

They pulled into the parking lot outside the school, and Skye did her best to take it all in so that she wouldn’t look like a goldfish when she had to come for real the next day. Since it was the middle of the morning, there wasn’t anybody outside, but the two-story brick building had a sprawling green lawn and a blacktop off to the side that Skye could imagine was normally teeming with kids. An American flag flapped atop a pole next to a big stone sign that announced that the building was, in fact, Manitowoc Middle School, in case anyone had any doubts. The inside of the building was pretty standard for a middle school, as far as Skye could tell. It had waxed hallways lined with lockers, a trophy case out front filled with dusty cups and medals, and heavy-looking doors every few feet that presumably harbored classrooms behind them. The whole place smelled like a combination of dry-erase marker, cafeteria pizza, and stale gym socks, but it didn’t really bother Skye. It just smelled like school.

Phil steered them down the main hall and into what must have been the front office. An older woman sat behind a computer at a large desk, pecking away at her keyboard. Her face lit up when she saw them walk through the door.

“Phil, so good to see you!”

“Hi Nancy, good to see you too,” Phil said warmly. “Girls, this is Mrs. Baumbach. She’s a great person to know here.” Dropping his voice low, he leaned in like he was sharing a secret. “Don’t tell the principal I said this, but Mrs. Baumbach runs this place.” Mrs. Baumbach laughed a twinkling kind of laugh, and made a shooing gesture at Phil.

“Same old Phil,” she tittered. “Well, I can guess what’s brought you in to see me today.” She looked over her computer at Jemma and Skye and gave them a smile. “We’re very excited that you’ll be starting here at MMS.” Skye offered a half-smile back, and Jemma stared at the floor. Her hands were buried in her jeans pockets, but Skye could see the outline of her finger tapping away at her leg inside her pocket.

“You two can have a seat, if you like,” Mrs. Baumbach said, pointing to a row of chairs that looked like they had been from a doctor’s office in a previous life. “Now, Phil, what have we got here?”

Phil produced his stacks of papers and set them on Mrs. Baumbach’s desk. Skye watched as the two adults began sifting through the papers, which she learned included both her and Jemma’s school records, transcripts, and registration information. Miss Hand must have brought them over along with their files that morning.

“So Jemma’s… yes, that’s right, 12. Mm-hmm. And then Skye here… precisely.” The conversation between Phil and Mrs. Baumbach volleyed back and forth like a tennis match as they flipped through the documents. Mrs. Baumbach would occasionally pause to type something into her computer while Phil continued thumbing through page after page.

“Yes, and then the fifth school she has records from is—yep, Garden Grove Elementary, and then back to Our Lady of Mercy—” That was the school the nuns sent them to. Skye was sure that one popped up a lot on both their records.

Skye and Jemma sat patiently, or at least as patiently as they could. Jemma tapped softly on the arm of her chair, and Skye saw her mouth moving slightly as she counted under her breath. Skye wasn’t sure what she was counting, maybe the squares in the carpet pattern or the ceiling tiles. There wasn’t really much else besides those. Skye swung her legs back and forth absentmindedly, trying to think of something to do to entertain herself. She never understood how Jemma cold find counting so interesting. Skye had tried it a few times before, but she always got bored by the time she got to twenty of anything. She wished she had some of her computer parts here to tinker with. That would make the time go a whole lot faster.

A few more minutes ticked slowly by and Skye felt like her brain was about to leak out of her ears she was so bored. Fortunately, just then a boy walked into the office, a sour look on his face and a note clutched in his hand. He was around her and Jemma’s age, with wiry brown hair and ears that stuck out a little bit. Mrs. Baumbach looked up from what she and Phil were working on to greet him.

“Leopold, good morning. What brings you down here today?” Her tone was friendly, but Skye got the impression that she and this boy saw each other often, and not always on the best of terms.

“I’m meant to see Mr. Hanes,” the boy, Leopold, grumbled at the ground, holding the note out for Mrs. Baumbach. The way he talked struck Skye’s ears as unusual, and it took her a second to realize that he had an accent that Skye couldn’t place. Mrs. Baumbach scanned the note and set it to the side with a sigh.

“Have a seat, Leopold. I’ll let Mr. Hanes know that you’re here for being disruptive again.” She excused herself and disappeared towards the back of the office. Leopold slumped into a chair next to Skye and crossed his arms with a huff. After a beat, he cocked his head and turned to look at Skye and Jemma. His gaze was unwavering, and Skye felt like she was being examined.

“Who’re you?” he asked abruptly. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new or in trouble, too?”

“We’re new,” Skye said, at the same time that Jemma spluttered “We’re not in trouble!”

“You’re together then?” he wondered. “Did you just move here?”

“Something like that,” Skye mumbled.

“Are you from England?” Leopold asked, looking at Jemma specifically. “You talk like it.”

“Well you talk like you’re from Scotland,” Jemma said, her tone a little defensive. Skye made a mental note about the Scottish accent.

“That’s because I am,” he replied, a look of confusion crossing his face. “Or I was. Look, I didn’t mean to make you angry, it was just a question.”

“You ask a lot of those,” Skye remarked, trying to signal to him that they didn’t appreciate the interrogation.

“I like to know things,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You can ask me questions back, if you want. Then you’ll know things, too. Like, you could ask me about monkeys, or how rockets work, and I could tell you a lot of—”

“Okay, what about the question of why you got sent to the office?” Skye asked, cutting him off before he started rambling about rockets to her. This boy was odd, but not necessarily in a bad way, more of a confusing way. He scowled and slumped back in his chair.

“Mr. DeRosa doesn’t like it when I correct him in class. He says its disruptive, but I think it’s more disruptive to tell people that Watson and Crick were the ones who discovered DNA when in reality they’re only credited with discovering the structure, not to mention the fact that their work was entirely dependent on the research of Maurice Wilkins and—”

“—Rosalind Franklin,” Jemma said, finishing his sentence for him. He looked started, and then immediately pleased.

“Yes, exactly. And then, to make matters worse, he wrote the wrong charge on the phosphate ion that helps comprise the nucleotides that make up nucleic acid, and even had the audacity to suggest that nucleic acid is only found in the cell nucleus, when research clearly suggests that—”

“—nucleic acid is found throughout the cell, in mitochondria, in chloroplasts, and even in non-nucleic cells like bacteria and viruses,” Jemma said, as if this were obvious. Skye looked back and forth between the two, a little dumbfounded. She caught Phil’s eye on the other side of the office, and he looked just as bemused as she felt. He saw her looking at him, and just shrugged with an amused grin. Skye wasn’t surprised at Jemma’s knowledge, necessarily. She knew Jemma was insanely smart and knew more about everything than Skye knew about anything, and there had been times when Skye had listened for hours on end as Jemma expounded on some obscure scientific topic that she had very little interest in, but Skye had never seen her jump so readily into conversation with a total stranger like this before.

“So you can see why I needed to point out his mistakes,” Leopold explained, and Jemma nodded along with him. “But Mr. DeRosa doesn’t really like it when I do that. He wants me to wait until the end of class to tell him privately, but I can’t just let misinformation go like that. So I wound up here.” The excitement that had bubbled up in him when he was talking about DNA and nuclear acid or whatever it was called had drained away and his sour expression returned. Skye offered him a sympathetic smile. She had never been sent to the office for correcting a teacher before, but she had been sent for plenty of other things, and she knew how it felt to be sent for something you thought was unfair. She had lost count of the number of times she had gotten in trouble for fighting when all she was really trying to do was defend herself or Jemma.

“I’m Skye,” she said, trying to cheer him back up. “And this is Jemma.”

“I’m Fitz,” he offered.

Jemma looked confused. “I though Mrs. Baumbach called you Leopold?”

“Yeah, well, that’s my real name,” he sighed, running a hand through his scrubby hair. “But I like to be called Fitz better. Some people like my mum call me Leo, which is better than Leopold, but not as good as Fitz, I think.” Skye nodded. She definitely understood wanting to shed a terrible real name. She didn’t think Leopold was as bad as Mary Sue, but she agreed that Fitz had a much better sound to it. She was about to tell him that, when Mrs. Baumbach returned.

“Leopold, Mr. Hanes can’t see you right away, but you’ll be able to go back shortly. You can wait here for now.” She turned her attention back to Phil. “All right, let’s get this registration finished up, shall we? I think the only thing left to do is…” she trailed off, pecking away at the computer. A whirring sound shortly followed, and a few sheets of paper were spat out from a nearby printer. Briskly, she handed the papers over to Phil, who took them and gave them a quick look over.

“These are the girls’ classroom assignments, rotation schedules, locker numbers and combinations, and so on. Everything they need should be there. I’ll just finish processing some of these record transfers and run them by Mr. Hanes this afternoon, but everything seems to be in order. We’ll give things a try, and if we decide we need to readjust after a few weeks, I’m sure Mr. Hanes can meet with you and your wife to discuss further options.”

“Thanks, Nancy. We appreciate you working so quickly on all this. Things have been moving pretty fast for us, and we’re grateful for your help.” Phil began to gather his things, and he crossed over to the chairs where Skye, Jemma, and Fitz were all still sitting. “Ready girls?” he asked. “I think we’re about finished here.” Skye and Jemma nodded and got to their feet. They both waved at Fitz as they followed Phil out of the office. Jemma told him goodbye, and Fitz waved back, a little sadly Skye thought. She had forgotten to ask what grade he was in, but she hoped that he’d be in one of their classes. As unusual as he was, Skye was pretty sure she liked him. He seemed spunky, which Skye had a lot of respect for, being somewhat spunky herself.

“Well,” Phil said, as they made their way back out to the car, “would you like to see your class schedules? They look pretty good, from what I can see.” He passed the papers Mrs. Baumbach had given him back to them, and Skye and Jemma took their respective sheets. Skye glanced over the page quickly, and noticed that she had Mr. DeRosa, the teacher who had sent Fitz to the office for science. She also spotted Mrs. Henry, the social studies teacher that Phil had mentioned that morning, plus classes in language arts, pre-algebra, and a few others. She scrunched her nose up when she spotted gym class listed, but overall didn’t find anything egregious. Pre-algebra made her a little nervous, since she wasn’t sure if she knew exactly what kind of math that involved, but she figured she could ask Jemma for help if it got too hard.

After studying her own schedule, Skye leaned over and looked at Jemma’s, out of curiosity. Her heart leapt when she realized that they had the same teachers for science, social studies, and language arts, which must have meant—

“We’re going to be in the same grade at this school?” Skye tried to keep herself from getting too excited, but Jemma’s eager face beside her only mirrored how Skye was feeling. Phil smiled at them in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, we thought that might be a good decision, and Mrs. Baumbach was able to help us work it out. Jemma, your test scores have been high enough that the school was willing to try you out in the eighth grade, and the fact that you have some eighth-grade credits from when you went to Wheaton middle school helped, too. We did our best to give you as many classes together as we could, although I think you’re in different maths, and some of your electives might be different as well.” Skye’s face split into a massive grin at the prospect of getting to share most of her day with Jemma. Jemma was also smiling, and she wiggled back and forth slightly in her seat, doing what Skye could only describe as a happy dance.

“I’m guessing you two are excited about that?” Phil chuckled, moving his eyes back to the road. Skye just beamed and nodded her head. Between funny Fitz from the office and knowing that she’d have Jemma at her side for at least part of the day, her nerves about starting school were starting to abate somewhat.

When they stopped at a red light, Phil fished his phone out of his pocket and passed it back to Skye. He asked her to call May and put her on speaker, so that Phil could talk to her about their lunch plans while he drove, and Skye did as she was instructed. When May’s voice came through the other end of the line, she sounded happy to hear from them.

“I’m almost to a stopping place here, so I can meet you for lunch in… fifteen minutes? How does that sound?”

“That works for us,” Phil said. “How does Pie in the Sky sound?” Skye looked at Jemma, quirking her eyebrows up in a silent question, but Jemma just shrugged. Apparently the phrase ‘Pie in the Sky’ meant as little to her as it did Skye. On the phone, May laughed.

“Why am I not the least bit surprised that’s where you want to go?”

“Because it’s one of the greatest restaurants known to Wisconsin,” Phil replied. “And we have a duty as good foster parents to expose Skye and Jemma to the wonders of the Pie in the Sky Diner.”

“Okay then. Pie in the Sky it is. I’ll see you in a bit.” The line disconnected, and Skye handed the phone back to Phil, who set it in the cupholder on the center console beside him.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he told them. “They have great burgers, and there’s a different kind of pie every day. The coconut cream and the blueberry are two of my personal favorites, and Melinda goes nuts for their sweet potato, but they have all sorts. Do you two like pie?”

“I guess so,” Skye said. “Sometimes at Thanksgiving we would have pumpkin pie at St. Agnes, but I’ve never had any of those other ones.” Jemma had a funny look on her face, like she was trying to remember something she had forgotten. Jemma so rarely forgot anything that it was unusual to see her that way.

“Well, I think you’re in for a treat,” said Phil as he eased the car into the parking lot outside an old-fashioned looking diner. Skye felt a little silly for not realizing that there were still places that looked like that in real life, but she had never seen one anywhere but in movies before, so she felt like she had a little bit of an excuse.

The inside of the diner was just as retro as the outside had been, filled with plasticky booths and a counter with spinning stools built right in. A jukebox was lit up in the corner, and there were all kinds of old-timey things on the walls, like records and pictures of Elvis and that guy with the leather jacket on the motorcycle from some really old movie Skye couldn’t remember the name of. Phil was almost buoyant he was so excited to be there, and Skye thought it was a little funny to see a grownup acting like that, but she couldn’t help but smile. His attitude was infectious.

Phil led them over to a booth in the corner, and he waved at one of the women behind the counter, who had her hair pinned up in a twisty knot and who was wearing a big white apron around her ample waist.

“Hi Carolyn!” he called as they sat down. The woman smiled and started gathering up some menus to bring over.

“Hey Phil,” she greeted him, passing out the plastic-covered menu sheets to everyone and whipping out a notepad with ease. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and poised it over the notepad. “Good to see you, sugar. Who are your new friends? Don’t tell me you’ve replaced Melinda.” She arched an eyebrow, but the glimmer in her eye let Skye know that she was just teasing Phil.

“I’m smart enough to know better than that,” Phil teased back. “This is Skye and Jemma. They’re staying with me and Mel, and we knew this had to be our first stop. Mel’s meeting us here in a minute.” Carolyn nodded, giving Skye and Jemma a look of approval.

“We’re counting on you girls to keep this one in line,” she said, waving her pencil in Phil’s direction. “He’s a troublemaker, so you have to keep an eye on him.”

“Why do all the women in my life tell me that?” Phil asked, feigning hurt. The adults both laughed then, and Skye and Jemma shared a look that confirmed they both thought that grownups were beyond weird sometimes.

“Can I get y’all something to drink while you wait for Melinda?” Carolyn asked. They placed drink orders, which Carolyn whisked back in a blink. There were only a few other customers in the diner, so Carolyn didn’t seem to have her hands too full at the moment. They perused their menus in silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by the sound of a bell over the door tinkling as May entered the diner, an amused look on her face.

“You got here fast,” she said, sliding into the booth next to Phil. He looked up at her sheepishly.

“I may have started driving in this direction before I actually called you,” he admitted. May shook her head and smiled.

“I had a feeling that might be the case.” She reached over and gave Phil’s hand a loving squeeze, then leaned in towards him to look at his menu. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving. What looks good?” She posed the question to Skye and Jemma, which surprised them. Skye’s brain scrambled to settle on something from the menu.

“Um, maybe a burger?” she finally suggested, shrugging one shoulder. May nodded thoughtfully, like she took Skye’s recommendation very seriously.

“What about you, Jemma?” It took Jemma a little longer to answer. Skye couldn’t tell if it was because she was making up her mind or because she was building herself up enough to talk, but either way, May waited patiently until Jemma spoke.

“A BLT?” Jemma seemed unsure, and even thought Skye couldn’t see her hand, she was sure Jemma was tapping under the table. May and Phil both nodded with encouragement.

“An excellent choice,” Phil said. Jemma looked relieved and sat back a little in the booth, her shoulders relaxing.

Carolyn came back after a few minutes, and after chatting with May, took their orders and returned to the kitchen. While they waited for their food to arrive, May tried to make conversation.

“Well, how did it go at the school?” It took Skye a second to realize that the question was directed at her and Jemma and not at Phil.

“Oh, um, good, I guess. Phil said that me and Jemma were going to be in the same grade, and we have some classes together.”

“I’m glad they were able to work that out,” May smiled, giving Phil’s hand another squeeze.

“They were pretty excited to find that out,” Phil said. “And you already met another student—”

“Fitz!” Jemma blurted out. Her face went bright red when she realized that she’d interrupted Phil, and she immediately cast her gaze down to her lap, but Phil just chuckled.

“Yeah, he seemed like a firecracker,” he said.

“How did you meet him?” asked May.

“He was supposed to go see the principal, and we were waiting in the office together,” Skye explained. “He was nice, though.”

“Seeing the principal? He sounds like a troublemaker…”

“It was only because Fitz’s teacher made mistakes in class and didn’t want Fitz correcting him,” Jemma said, a little indignant. May made a thoughtful noise, and Phil laughed again.

“I told you, a firecracker!”

“Well, I’m glad you met someone nice,” May said gently. “Hopefully that will make going to school tomorrow a little easier.” Neither Jemma nor Skye responded. Skye didn’t really want to admit that the prospect of school still made her belly flip, even if Jemma and Fitz were both going to be there with her. It was still a new school, with new kids, and new teachers, and new subjects that she was probably going to be behind in. She definitely felt less than nervous than she usually did with new schools, which was good, but doubts were still crawling around on the edges of her thoughts.

She was saved from having to dwell on her thoughts by the arrival of their meals. The table fell mostly silent as all four attacked their lunches with relish. Phil had been right; the burgers were great. Skye couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten a burger that good. When they had cleaned their plates, Carolyn came back around and asked them about dessert.

“We’ve got peach a la mode today, plus a new one I dreamed up last night. I call it the Chunky Monkey, and it’s a chocolate and banana cream with walnuts on top.”

Phil’s face lit up. “A la mode?” he asked. Carolyn nodded, and made a note on their ticket.

“Yes indeed, sugar. I’m guessing I can put you down for that one?” She went around then and took everyone else’s pie orders. Skye thought the Monkey one sounded like fun, and when the massive slice of pie arrived, piled high with whipped cream, nuts, and a drizzle of chocolate, she knew she had made an excellent choice.


	6. Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for hospital, mention of abuse

The next time she woke up, she still felt groggy, but it was much easier to take in her surroundings. The whiteness of the room wasn’t quite so bright, and the haziness in her brain seemed to have lessened. She wasn’t sure if she could sit up, but she was able to turn her head slightly to get a good look at the room. It seemed like a standard hospital room with little more than a chair in the way of extra furniture. She was in a big bed, strapped to several beeping and blinking machines. A needle was in one of her arms, and plastic tubes were stretched across her face and hooked up to her nose. Maybe that was helping her breathe. It hurt so much every time she tried to draw air into her lungs. What had the nurse said? Punctured? No wonder it felt like fire in her chest.

A woman came into the room then. She was different than the nurse before, she was pretty sure, but this new woman was wearing scrubs, too. The woman looked surprised to see her awake.

“Oh! You’re awake. How are you feeling, Barbara?” Terrible. Bad. Hurt. She tried to say any of those words, but all that came out was a whimper.

“I’ll see if we can’t get you something for the pain,” the new nurse said. So much pain. The new nurse disappeared for a moment, and returned with a syringe filled with clear liquid, which she fed through the IV attached to her arm. She hated needles, but she didn’t have the strength to protest. For a brief second, the strange sensation of something entering her veins put her entire body on edge, but it was quickly replaced by a rush of relief as some of the fire in her bones was softened.

“Better?” the new nurse asked. She nodded almost imperceptibly, but it looked like the new nurse had caught her meaning. “My name is Alice. Do you think you could answer a few questions for me, Barbara? Do you feel up to that?” Barbara. The old nurse had called her that, too. She figured no one had told them that she didn’t like to be called that.

“Bobbi,” she managed to mumble, past the pain, past the too big tongue that made her speech slurred. Her jaw throbbed when she opened it.

“What?” The new nurse scrunched her eyebrows together. Confused face. Then they moved apart back to their normal spot. Understanding face. “Oh, Bobbi. Is that your name, sweetie?” Bobbi Morse nodded again, happy she didn’t have to explain. It was so much work to talk.

“All right then, Bobbi, do you know where you are?” She nodded. When the nurse looked expectantly at her, Bobbi gathered her strength and forced a word out of her mouth.

“’ospital,” she murmured.

The nurse nodded. “That’s right. And do you know why you’re here? Do you remember what happened?” What happened? What had happened? Something bad. She had been so bad, and now she was hurt. The nurse interpreted her silence correctly, and tried prompting her memory further. “Your dad brought you in yesterday, Bobbi. He said you were in a terrible car accident; do you remember that?” Dad. Her dad. Slowly some of the pieces returned to her. He had been so angry earlier. The crack of knuckles, the flash of fury, the baseball bat sitting in the corner. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she shook her head. No. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to remember it.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You just rest, okay? We’ll try and jog your memory again later.”


	7. School Supplies and Spaghetti

After lunch, they parted ways with May again, and Phil took Skye and Jemma out to pick up some things for school.

“I noticed you both already had backpacks,” he said as they grabbed a cart and headed towards the back of the store. “But if you’d like a new one to be just for school, I’m happy to get it.” Skye thought about her current backpack. She’d had it since she was in elementary school, and it was a good backpack. It was old though, and more than a little beaten up from being toted from place to place. One of the straps was reaffixed with duct tape, and one of the zippers was stuck shut, but she didn’t think it was quite dire enough to go and do something as extravagant as buying a whole new one. She shook her head, and Jemma did the same, which didn’t surprise Skye in the least. Even if Jemma’s backpack was falling to thread, there was no way she would have willingly gotten rid of it. Jemma was very particular about her things, and getting new stuff was always a challenge. Most of the time it didn’t matter, since they didn’t get much new stuff anyway, but Skye had seen Jemma be reduced to tears because she had to get new shoes before.

“Okay then, we can skip the backpacks,” Phil chirped. It was amazing how upbeat he seemed to always be. He led them around the store, and gradually they stocked the cart with notebooks, pencils, folders, and a few other supplies. Skye was trying to be polite, because it was really nice of him to buy them all this stuff, but she couldn’t help but feel incredibly bored as they walked through aisle after aisle of pens and planners and paper. She wondered if Phil would mind if she went off to look at something more interesting, like the electronics section, but wasn’t sure she had the courage to ask him.

At one point, as Phil moved ahead towards the three-ring binders (how could there possibly be so many kinds of binders?), Jemma lagged behind and lingered in front of a display of fancy-looking calculators that Skye was sure could do more math with just a few clicks than she would ever be able to in her whole life. She pulled up beside Jemma and admired the elaborate machines.

“Those are pretty high-tech,” Skye remarked. Jemma nodded in agreement.

“They can graph complex equations and even compute integral calculations,” she breathed. Skye had no idea what those things meant, but Jemma sounded in awe.

“Do you like them?” Phil’s voice came from behind them, causing both girls to jump. They hadn’t realized he had joined them.

“I don’t really need it, it’s not like I couldn’t do the same math in my head,” Jemma said sheepishly. Skye didn’t doubt it. She had never actually seen Jemma use a calculator before, and the girl still somehow managed to ace practically every math test she had ever taken.

“While I’m incredibly impressed with your math skills, I’m a little more interested in whether you like it, not whether you need it,” Phil said gently. Jemma’s cheeks went pink. Phil waited patiently, and after a moment, Jemma nodded.

“I like them.” As soon as Jemma finished speaking, Phil reached over and added one of the calculators to the cart. Skye’s eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise, and Jemma’s mouth fell open.

“Phil, those are like a hundred dollars,” Skye pointed out. Maybe he had missed the price tag.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s important to have a good calculator, and Jemma can use this one all the way through high school, probably. I know a lot of my students use these in some of their upper-level math classes. Consider it an investment in future math education.” Jemma opened and closed her mouth a few times before any words could get out.

“Thank you,” she finally managed to squeak. Phil just beamed.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Skye, if there’s something special you’d like to pick out too, you’re more than welcome. I want to make sure everything’s fair, you know.” Skye thought for a minute, then had an idea. She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves.

“Could I go look for something in a different part of the store?” she asked.

“Of course,” Phil said. Skye let out the air she had been holding onto. “Can Jemma and I come with you, or do you want to meet us back here?”

“You can come,” Skye told them. She didn’t have any reason to be secretive, but she appreciated that Phil had asked. Quickly, Skye managed to find the electronics section of the store, Phil and Jemma in tow, and she darted through the aisles, scanning the shelves. After a minute of searching, she found what she was looking for.

“A computer repair kit?” Phil asked as Skye handed him a small box to put into the cart. Skye nodded.

“It has a bunch of neat stuff,” she explained, pointing out the different tools that came included in the kit. “See, there’s these tiny pliers, and a little screwdriver that you can swap the heads off of, and some extra fuses, and these cool wire clippers that can also cinch things.” She was a little worried that Phil would think she was crazy, or up to no good, but the look on his face was as pleasant as always.

“That does sound cool,” he agreed, adding the kit to their eclectic cart. “Maybe in the car on the way home you could tell me what all of those things are for.” Skye cocked her head. She had never had a foster dad who was actually interested in learning about her computer stuff. To be fair, she didn’t usually talk much with her foster dads, and she certainly never told them she was building a computer under her bed, but still, most foster dads either worked all day and then wanted to be left alone at night or would rather slug you than listen to anything you had to say. She was starting to see that Phil wasn’t really the type to fit into either of those boxes. He hadn’t gotten mad when she had broken the glass that morning, and he paid attention to her and Jemma when they talked about things they liked, like calculators and computers. Skye knew it was still too early to know for sure, but so far the evidence was pointing in a direction that told her Phil was one of the good ones.

They made it through the checkout line with ease, and soon they were back in the car and headed back home. Phil was true to his word and listened attentively while Skye explained what kinds of things she could use her new tools for. She did her best to keep everything hypothetical, since she wasn’t sure if she was ready to tell Phil about all the spare parts she currently had squirreled away in her bedroom, but Phil was still a good listener. He asked good questions, and he nodded and “mm-hmm’d” in what Skye considered to be all the right places. By the time the car pulled into the driveway, Skye was practically glowing from getting to show off her computer expertise to such a captive audience.

“Why don’t you two take your stuff up to your rooms?” Phil suggested as they clambered out of the car. “I have a few things I need to take care of in the office, since I’m going back to work tomorrow, and after that I’ll start working on dinner. You can rest, get ready for tomorrow, watch TV, whatever sounds good.” The girls nodded in tandem and disappeared up the stairs, while Phil moved towards the office in the back, chuckling to himself.

Skye spent all of two seconds dumping her new supplies unceremoniously on her bed before crossing over to Jemma’s room. Jemma was neatly and deliberately taking each of her new supplies out of the shopping bags and placing them in rows on her desk. Skye shook her head and smiled in disbelief at how different their methods were, but didn’t interrupt Jemma’s process. Once Jemma had placed each of her notebooks and pens and folders on the desk, she took her empty backpack, which Skye could only assume she had unpacked the night before like a responsible person, and began filling it with all her new things. The folders went in first, then the notebooks, then all the pens and pencils in a pouch in front. She saved the calculator for last, which she lovingly tucked into a protective pocket on the inside of the bag. Satisfied with her handiwork, Jemma zipped up the bag and plunked herself down on the bed, finally turning to acknowledge Skye’s presence at last.

“I can’t believe he did that,” Jemma said. Skye knew she was talking about Phil’s generosity in the store, and she nodded in agreement.

“I know, that was completely crazy! I’ve never had a foster dad like him before. He’s…” Skye trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to describe Phil exactly. He was super nice, of course, but it was more than that. He was gentle and kind, and he knew how to get excited about things. Sometimes he acted like a big kid, or a big dork, but he was protective, too. Skye gave up trying to define the enigma that was Phil and flopped into the chair by Jemma’s bookshelf.

“How are you feeling about school tomorrow?” she asked. She trained her gaze on the rug, so that her own expression couldn’t give her away to Jemma. Jemma was quiet for a minute, mulling over her words, and Skye heard the soft sound of Jemma’s finger tapping lightly on the bed post.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I’m glad that we have classes together. And I think I like that boy Fitz, even though he’s a little odd. But…” Jemma stopped, and there was an edge of uncertainty in her tone.

“Yeah,” Skye said, looking up at Jemma. “Me too. I just hope it doesn’t completely suck. I mean, it can’t be worse that Our Lady of Mercy, right?” Skye shuddered thinking back to their old school, and Jemma’s face scrunched up like she had just been fed a lemon.

“I hope not,” Jemma lamented.

“At least there’s no Michaela the Medusa at this school,” Skye remarked, running a finger thoughtfully over her bruised cheek.

“Does it hurt? What about your hand, how does that feel?” asked Jemma, getting up from the bed and crossing the room to inspect Skye’s bandaged hand.

“It’s fine. A little sore when I move it, but the bandage has been working.” Skye wiggled her hand in front of Jemma’s face, which elicited a giggle from the younger girl.

“Well just make sure you clean it and put a new dressing on it before bed tonight.”

“Yes ma’am, Dr. Simmons,” Skye said with mock seriousness. She flourished her injured hand and used it to give Jemma a stiff salute, sending her into another fit of giggles. A few minutes later, both girls managed to regain control, and Skye decided that she was getting bored staying shut up in Jemma’s room.

“Hey, Phil said we could watch TV. Want to see if there’s anything good on? They might have the Discovery channel…” Jemma, tempted by the lure of animal documentaries, agreed, and they both bounded down the stairs and into the den. After a few attempts, Skye managed to figure out which buttons and remotes controlled the large television, and after flipping through several channels she and Jemma settled on Jeopardy. Skye didn’t find the game show to be all that interesting, but Jemma loved to answer the questions before the contestants, and Skye did have to admit it was entertaining to watch Jemma obliterate the adults on screen.

While they watched, an enticing smell began wafting from the kitchen, and Skye found herself following her nose to find Phil at the stove, whistling a chipper tune and stirring a large pot. Skye drew level with Phil and peered into the pan, where she found onions and ground beef sizzling away.

“I hope you like spaghetti,” Phil said. “I’m working on my world-famous sauce at the moment.”

“It smells good,” Skye told him, inhaling deeply. “Usually when we had spaghetti at St. Agnes, the sauce just came out of cans.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” whispered Phil conspiratorially. “My sauce comes out of a jar, but I like to spice it up with a few things here and there to make it taste amazing.”

Skye smiled at him. “That’s pretty smart.”

“I like to think I’m a pretty smart guy, most of the time,” he chuckled. “Would you like to help? I could use an extra hand.” Skye thought for a minute, then nodded. She had cooked a few times before, usually in foster homes where the parents couldn’t be bothered to themselves, but she had never cooked with another person before, and never anything as involved as what Phil seemed to be working on.

“If you’ll pull out the big pot from that cabinet down there,” Phil gestured towards a cupboard under the counter, “and fill it up about 2/3 of the way with water, that would be great. You can just leave it in the sink, and then I’ll carry it over to the stove once it’s full.” Skye obeyed, finding the pot and setting it in the sink with little difficulty. Once the water had reached a spot she thought seemed about 2/3 full, she turned off the spout and signaled to Phil that it was ready. He passed her the spoon he had been using on the meat and onions and hefted the heavy pot onto the stovetop.

“We’ll have to wait a little for the water to boil, but there are some other things we can do in the meantime,” he said. “Would you rather finish the sauce, or start chopping up some vegetables for our salad?” Skye pondered her options, and decided that she didn’t want to run the risk of ruining Phil’s “world-famous” sauce with her lack of culinary acumen.

“Vegetables,” she told him with a stout nod. Phil directed her as she pulled out carrots, broccoli, cucumber, and lettuce out of the fridge and set them on the counter. He showed her where a cutting board and the knives were, and before long, Skye had everything laid out in front of her, ready to chop.

“Be careful with the knife,” Phil cautioned. “Hold it with all of your fingers bunched together, like a fist, not with your pointer out like a pencil, and then rock it back and forth over whatever it is your cutting.” Skye did her best to follow his instructions, and began to cut the carrots clumsily. Phil was watching her, and he smiled when she glanced up in a silent request for confirmation that she was doing it the right way. Skye felt the corners of her mouth tug up and the carrots made a satisfying snap with every pump of the knife blade.

While Skye worked her way through the various vegetables, Phil continued at the stove, adding the jar of sauce to his pot, and then several shakes from a number of different jars of spices and a splash of a brown liquid that smelled almost like salad dressing.

“Secret ingredients,” he explained, waggling his eyebrows. Skye bit back a giggle. She could tell he was playing around, pretending to be sneaky with his cooking. It was fun to work side by side with him.

“Do you always cook?” Skye asked, thinking to dinner the night before and breakfast that morning. None of her previous foster dads had ever cooked, and a few seemed like they probably had never even set foot in the kitchen before.

“Usually,” Phil said. “I like to cook, and I’m usually home before Melinda is, so I try to get dinner started. Also, between you and me, Mel isn’t a very good cook.” Skye did laugh this time. She suspected May wouldn’t appreciate that characterization. Phil chuckled with her. “She makes very good dumplings, and she’s a pretty good baker, but I’m the top chef in this house.”

Eventually, the water boiled, and they added handfuls of dry spaghetti noodles to the pot. Phil turned the stove down under his sauce for it to simmer while the pasta cooked, and then helped Skye toss the salad ingredients together. As they worked, Skye heard the front door open, and a moment later May appeared in the kitchen, briefcase still in hand. She looked a little tired, but had a smile on her face as she took in the sight of Phil and Skye cooking together.

“Hey, you two,” she said. “It smells good in here. World-famous spaghetti?”

“You know it,” Phil boasted. “Even more world-famous now that I finally have a worthy assistant.” He winked at Skye, who felt her cheeks grow slightly warm at the praise.

“Well, I can’t wait,” May said. “Today has definitely been a spaghetti kind of day.”

“What does that mean? What’s a spaghetti kind of day?” came a voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Jemma standing there, looking confused. Skye figured Jeopardy must have ended and Jemma had come looking for her, or to see what all the hubbub in the kitchen was about. May furrowed her brow and looked thoughtful at Jemma’s question.

“I guess I mean that it was a hard day, so I want to eat something that I really like for dinner to cheer me up, like Phil’s spaghetti,” she finally explained. “I never really thought about it before.”

“It could mean the kind of day where everything gets twisted up and tangled like spaghetti noodles,” Skye suggested, thinking about some of her own bad days and how twisty and knotted they left her feeling. May made a pensive noise and nodded in agreement.

“That never occurred to me, Skye, but you’re right. Today was a tangled-up noodle of a day. I like that definition a lot.” Skye puffed her chest a little, proud of her contribution, and she noticed that Jemma’s confusion had morphed into a small smile. She guessed that Jemma liked her definition, too.

“Well, honey, why don’t you go put your stuff down and then tell us all about your spaghetti day while we eat?” Phil suggested. “Everything’s almost ready here.” May agreed, pecking a kiss on Phil’s cheek as she made her way past him and out of the kitchen.

“We still need to set the table, plus I need to drain the noodles and add in the sauce,” said Phil, crossing back to the stove. “Could I persuade you two to help me out with that?” Skye and Jemma nodded, and Phil told them where to find everything they needed to set the table while he finished cooking with a flourish. Jemma was a good person to count on to set the table. She carefully laid out napkins and forks with precision, while Skye, on the other hand, was more inclined to stick plates and glasses in the general vicinity of everyone’s place. Jemma didn’t seem to mind Skye’s haphazard place settings, though, and she followed behind, gently replacing Skye’s lackluster work without complaint. Skye smiled to herself. She didn’t really see what the big deal was, since everyone was just going to come and move their own plates around to eat off of them in just a few minutes, but she knew better than to question Jemma’s organizational skills.

Before long, the table was set, and Phil laid out the food he and Skye had prepared. May returned, in more comfortable-looking clothes, and they all sat down to eat. Phil had been right about his spaghetti sauce; it was the best Skye had ever tasted. Jemma seemed a little skeptical of the sauce, and ate her noodles plain, but no one seemed to mind. May asked how their afternoon had been, and they filled her in on the shopping trip and the various school supplies they had picked up. Skye was excited to talk about her computer kit again, and Jemma even perked up to talk about her new calculator. May seemed impressed by both of their purchases, and listened attentively like Phil had in the car.

Once they had finished updating May on their day, May offered updates of her own. She told them about how she was working on a particularly tricky case at work, and how it was one that made her sad to work on.

“How come?” Skye wanted to know. “Did something bad happen?”

May nodded, her mouth a tight line. “Someone broke into a woman’s home and did something bad to her, something that hurt her. She’ll be okay, but it was very frightening for her, and now it’s up to me and my coworkers to find the person that did it, so that he can’t hurt anyone else.” Skye wanted to ask more questions, but the tired sound in May’s voice told her that maybe it wasn’t the right time.

“Has Dr. Weaver been able to give you anything?” Phil asked.

“A little. There are some possible pieces of evidence that we’re hoping will turn up some DNA, but it’s still too soon to tell. Fury’s pressuring us to close as soon as possible, of course.”

“I know some things about DNA,” Jemma offered. Her face was puckered with worry, but her eyes carried the smallest of sparkles at being able to contribute her biology knowledge. “It stands for deoxyribonucleic acid, because it’s made up of nucleotides, which contain a phosphate group, a sugar called deoxyribose, and a nucleobase. And there are four of those, called cytosine, guanine, adenine, and thymine, and they pair off with one another, A’s with T’s and C’s with G’s.” May and Phil looked a little dumbfounded, and Skye couldn’t help but smile to herself. She loved it when Jemma got to show off how smart she was to other people, especially grown-ups.

“That’s really impressive, Jemma,” May told her, a smile replacing her look of surprise. “Maybe I should have you meet Dr. Weaver sometime. She’s a forensic scientist who works at the police station with me. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.” Jemma looked bashful and simply shrugged, looking down at her lap.

“Something tells me you won’t have any trouble in Mr. DeRosa’s science class tomorrow,” said Phil with a reassuring grin. The mention of school brought Skye crashing back to reality, and the forgotten knot returned to the pit of her stomach. May seemed to have noticed the change in her demeanor, because she eyed her quizzically, but didn’t say a word. Skye was grateful that she didn’t have to try and explain all the emotions that were jumbled up inside of her at the moment.

“Good grief,” Phil exclaimed then, drawing Skye out of her thoughts. He was looking at the clock over the stove. “How did it get so late? You two better start getting ready bed, you’ll have to be up early tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t we need to do the dishes?” Skye asked. Despite the disastrous dishwashing that had taken place that morning, she assumed that the job would fall to her and Jemma.

“Melinda and I will do them,” Phil said, and May nodded. “It’s more important that the two of you get to bed at a reasonable time. We’ll be up to say goodnight before long.”

Not wanting to pass up on the opportunity to avoid doing chores, Skye and Jemma obeyed without another word. They disappeared upstairs and began the process of getting ready for bed, showering, donning their big t-shirts, and brushing teeth. Jemma made sure to see to it that Skye properly cleaned and redressed the cut on her palm, which was still red and angry-looking under the band-aid, and Skye did her best not to fuss when Jemma applied more of the ointment, even though it definitely stung. Both girls parted ways in the hall, heading for their own doors, but Skye had given Jemma a pointed look that she hoped the other girl would understand as meaning that Skye had every intention of repeating their ritual from the night before.

Skye had only been in her room for a few minutes, really only enough time to turn down the bedcovers and clamber in with her new computer repair kit clutched tightly in her good hand, before a knock came at the door and May’s head appeared in the frame.

“Hi Skye, I just wanted to say goodnight.” Skye offered a crooked smile. Even though Phil had done the same thing the night before, she wasn’t sure how she felt about this nighttime routine of being checked in on before bed. She couldn’t really figure out what kind of response she was supposed to give to someone just coming to say goodnight. Absentmindedly, she started fiddling with one of the clasps on her kit, feeling more than a little awkward.

“Is that your computer kit you were telling me about earlier?” May asked. “Can I see?”

Skye nodded, and scooted slightly in the bed to make room for May to come and look at the kit. May came and sat next to her, and Skye began to take out the pieces one by one, explaining what each one was and what it did. May seemed impressed by her expertise, and Skye sat up a little straighter. There was a brief moment of silence once Skye had finished detailing the intricacies of her kit, until May broke it with the question Skye had been hoping to avoid.

“How are you feeling about school tomorrow?” Something about the serious yet gentle way May asked made Skye feel very small as she sat on the bed. She fidgeted with the clasp on her kit again, and then with a loose thread on the bedspread for a while before answering. May, to her credit, sat patiently while Skye futzed without speaking.

“Fine, I guess,” Skye finally said. She decided that generalities were her safest bet. She didn’t want to get all emotional in front of May.

“I know it’s not easy to start at a new school,” said May. “Especially when you’ve had to do it lots of times before. But I’m very confident that you’ll do well.” Skye let out a harsh laugh. She hadn’t meant to, but the idea of her doing well in school was just too outrageous.

“I guess you didn’t look at my file yet,” she murmured, her cheeks growing warm. “Jemma does good in school, not me. I’m not smart like her. I couldn’t even read until I was in the third grade.”

“Well, you can read now, can’t you?” May asked encouragingly. Skye nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “Doing well in school isn’t just about how smart you are, or about what grades you get. It’s about trying your best, learning new things, and making progress. At least, that’s what I say.”

Skye looked up then, and saw that May was sincere. She mulled over May’s words in her head.

“I think, for tomorrow, you should focus on settling in, maybe making a friend or two. We have plenty of time to see how you do with the material, and plenty of time to help you get caught up, if you need it. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Skye said quietly, nodding. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all Phil and I will ever ask of you,” May assured her. She reached out and gave Skye’s knee a squeeze. “Goodnight, Skye.”


	8. The First Day of School

After May left, Skye spent time fiddling with the chips on a half-melted motherboard, using her new pliers to try and pry the usable pieces from the warped plastic. She had been dying to test out her new tools, and she also needed something to occupy her until she was sure May and Phil had gone to bed so that she could sneak over to Jemma’s room to sleep. She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but eventually the stifling silence from the night before settled over the house, and Skye figured the coast was probably clear. She peaked into the hall first, making sure that no light was spilling from under May and Phil’s door, then made her way towards Jemma. The younger girl was sitting up for her, and within minutes they had nestled under the covers together and drifted off into sleep.

As she had the day before, Skye woke before the sun and slipped back into her own bed before anyone could become the wiser. This time she did manage to go back to sleep for a little while longer, and so it was the placid voice of Phil that stirred her a few hours later.

“Skye? It’s time to get up, kiddo. Time to get ready for school.” Skye lifted her head blearily and squinted through the sunlight that now filled the room to see Phil standing in the doorway, dressed in a jacket and tie like he had worn the day she met him. She climbed out of bed, and wasted little time in getting ready. Picking out her clothes wasn’t hard, as she only had a few options to choose from, and really only one good shirt that fit correctly and had no holes or loose threads. She pulled the shirt on over a camisole, plus her jeans (with one holey knee, but that was okay, since holes were considered cool in jeans) and her sneakers. She tried to brush out her hair as best she could, but admitted to herself that she would probably never truly get all of the tangles out.

Downstairs, Phil and May were both at the table. Phil had the newspaper propped open against a carton of orange juice, and May was nursing a mug of tea, dressed in workout clothes like she had been yesterday. The cereal bowl in front of her was empty, and Skye figured she must have already eaten.

“Good morning,” May said as she came in. “Sleep all right?” Skye nodded, and took a seat at the table. Phil passed her a bowl and spoon, and gestured to the collection of cereal boxes set out on the table.

“We have cornflakes, raisin bran, and applejacks,” he told her. “We weren’t sure what kinds you and Jemma liked, so we stuck with some basics for now.” Skye settled on the applejacks, and filled her bowl, careful not to slosh milk onto the table.

“You’re eye is looking better,” May commented. “Does it feel okay?” Skye “mm-hmm’d” around a spoonful of cereal, which made May and Phil both smile.

“Glad to hear it,” said Phil. “And your hand, too?” Skye’s second nod was cut short, as her ears latched onto the faint sound of finger tapping against leg. Jemma shuffled her way into the kitchen, tapping away on her hip. Her eyes were cast down, but Skye could still see that her face was even paler than usual and her mouth was set in a tight, grim line. Both May and Phil greeted her as she approached the table, but Jemma didn’t respond. When Phil encouraged her to eat, she robotically poured a miniscule amount of cornflakes into the bowl he provided. She picked at the cereal with her spoon before adding milk to the bowl, and if Skye had to guess, she would have said Jemma was counting the individual flakes in her bowl. That wasn’t usually a part of Jemma’s morning routine, but Skye figured that she was extra stressed about starting school and that counting cornflakes was am attempt at grasping for control, so she acted as if this behavior was normal. May and Phil took their cues from Skye, and chose not to question the cereal counting, which Skye thought was a nice gesture on their part.

After a few minutes, Jemma appeared to finish her counting and tipped some milk into her bowl. She didn’t start eating right away, and Skye knew it was because she was waiting for the flakes to get soggy. While most people didn’t like for their cereal to be anything but crunchy, Jemma couldn’t stand the opposite. She once told Skye that eating non-soggy cereal was too loud and tasted too sharp in her mouth. Skye didn’t really understand what Jemma meant, but, as with many of Jemma’s more peculiar habits, didn’t find herself too hung up about it. If eating soggy cereal helped make Jemma just a little bit happier, then it was fine with Skye, just so long as she didn’t have to eat it.

Obviously no one had thought to fill May and Phil in on Jemma’s preferred cereal texture, though, because they both looked concerned as Jemma sat there, not eating.

“Are you not hungry, Jemma?” May asked. “Would you like something else instead?”

“You should try to eat something, its important to have breakfast before a long day at school,” Phil added. “I’m sure you know all the science behind the benefits of a good breakfast…”

After a long pause, punctuated only by finger tapping, Jemma finally opened her mouth.

“Waiting.” The effort of getting the one word out looked like it had physically hurt to get out, so when Phil and May looked even more confused, Skye took it upon herself to fill them in on Jemma’s behalf.

“For the cereal to get to the right texture,” she explained. The adults looked only slightly less confused at the explanation, but accepted it with thoughtful nods. May finished the last of her tea and stood up from the table.

“I need to go and get ready for work, but I just wanted to tell you both to have a great first day,” she said with injected enthusiasm. “I’m sure it’s a little scary, but I know you’ll both do great.” Skye flashed her a grateful smile that didn’t quite reach all the way up to her eyes, and May gave her, Jemma, and Phil all a squeeze on the shoulder as she passed them each on her way to put her dishes in the sink.

Over the next few minutes, Skye finished her own breakfast while Jemma picked at hers. Phil flitted around the kitchen, rinsing out dishes in the sink, collecting folders and papers into a leather satchel, and otherwise occupying himself. Once Skye and Jemma had finished eating, he ushered them upstairs to brush their teeth and grab their backpacks while he whisked their dishes into the sink.

In the bathroom, Skye watched as Jemma struggled to put toothpaste on her toothbrush, her hands were shaking so much. She could tell that Jemma wanted to tap, badly, but she had a feeling that even tapping wouldn’t be enough to calm her nerves. Hoping to avoid a shutdown, Skye took Jemma’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze, not hard enough to hurt Jemma but firm enough to try and snap her out of whatever spiral she was veering towards.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Skye whispered, taking a deep breath in through her nose as she squeezed. She released the breath and slackened her grip on Jemma’s hand, and for the first time that morning, Jemma looked up at her face. She still wouldn’t meet Skye’s eyes, but Skye didn’t care. She continued to breathe and squeeze in sync, and soon Jemma joined in her rhythm, and her hands stopped trembling quite so badly.

“We’ll have a bunch of classes together, and that Fitz kid will be thrilled that we’re in science together,” Skye reminded her. The smallest of smiles cracked the corner of Jemma’s mouth at the mention of the irascible boy. “Just look for me if you get overwhelmed today, okay?” Jemma nodded, and that was all Skye needed. She gave Jemma’s hand a final squeeze, then popped in her bedroom to grab her newly stocked backpack, and headed down the stairs.

* * *

The car ride to school was tense, with no one saying much. Phil had tried to make conversation in the first few minutes, but gave up after receiving nothing but blank, anxious stares from his two passengers in the back seat. When they pulled up outside of the middle school, Skye was struck by how different it looked with hundreds of students milling about, racing each other around the blacktop, lounging on the front steps, scurrying inside the front door. They looked like a bustling ant colony to her, and Skye felt the knot in her stomach clench with a wave of trepidation. She grit her teeth. It was just school, like the zillion other ones she had been to. She could do it.

“Do you two want me to walk you in?” Phil asked. “I’m happy to, but I won’t if that’s going to mess up your rep.” In the rearview mirror, Skye caught a glimpse of his expression, with the familiar twinkle in his eye, and she knew he was teasing them a little.

Skye shook her head. “We can go in by ourselves.” She knew better than to get walked into middle school by a grownup. Phil nodded. He understood.

“Okay, no problem. After school, I want you two to wait here for me to pick you up. The school library stays open after school, so you can hang out there, or anywhere you like, as long as there’s a teacher at least sort of close by. I’ll try to leave the high school as soon as I can, okay? If you have any problems, you can talk to one of your teachers or Mrs. Baumbach, and they’ll know how to get ahold of me or Melinda. Sound good?” Skye flashed him a thumbs’ up, which he returned, then grabbed Jemma’s hand and pulled her out of the car. She waved at Phil, and he told them both to have a great day just as Skye closed the door.

Not wanting to deal with the gawking eyes and predetermined cliques that she was sure dominated the outside, Skye opted instead to just head straight into the building, Jemma in tow. Inside, the wide halls seemed much narrower now that they were teeming with kids. Skye paused by a water fountain and fished her schedule that Mrs. Baumbach had printed off for them yesterday out of her jeans pocket.

“It says my homeroom is number 224. Is that yours too?” she asked. Jemma nodded, her eyes drinking in the controlled chaos that swarmed around them and her hand tapping rapidly against her thigh. Skye knew better than to ask if Jemma was sure. She would have bet a hundred dollars that Jemma had memorized her entire schedule the minute she got it. “Okay, great. Let’s go find it then.”

It was tough navigating the hallways. Once they moved past what looked like a sixth grade hallway and into the halls set aside for seventh and eighth graders, a lot of the kids were bigger than either Skye or Jemma, and they had to do a fair amount of ducking and weaving to pick their way through the crowds without catching a stray elbow or locker door. Eventually, though, they managed to find their way to room 224. It was a pretty standard classroom, with tile floors, a bunch of desks in rows, and a whiteboard at the front. There were a number of bookshelves lining the walls, all stuffed with multiple copies of a bunch of books Skye had never heard of, and a few posters on the wall. One had a picture of Shakespeare wearing sunglasses, which Skye had to admit was kind of funny, and a few others had things written on them about punctuation rules and something called an “answer sandwich.” This had to be the room of a language arts teacher.

A few kids were already in the room, some lounging in desks scrolling through their phones, a cluster of others in deep conversation with one another. In one corner, a scrubby haired boy with slightly too-big ears sat alone.

“Fitz!” Skye called out, breaking into a smile. The boy wheeled around, and it was indeed Fitz. He grinned back at them, and beckoned them over.

“You came back!” he said excitedly. “And we’re in the same class. This is the absolute best.”

“I guess we forgot to ask you what grade you were in yesterday,” Skye admitted. “Glad it worked out, though.”

“Yeah, well, I’m really supposed to be in seventh, but I skipped a few years ago,” Fitz told them.

“Jemma too,” Skye said proudly. Jemma would never brag about herself like that, but Skye liked to show off her friend from time to time. Skye didn’t think it was possible, but Fitz looked even more excited than before, his eyes practically overflowing with awe.

“I knew I liked you,” he said. “I hope you’re in science with me. It’ll be nice to have someone to back me up when Mr. DeRosa gets things wrong.” He said the last part like a joke, but Jemma didn’t laugh along with him. Her face was still turned towards the floor, and although her hand was slipped inside of her pocket, Skye was sure she was still tapping away. Fitz either didn’t notice Jemma’s unusual behavior or didn’t care, because he barreled forward with the conversation without missing a beat.

“If you’re in here for homeroom then you both probably have Miss Hill for language arts, which means we’ll have that class together. Not as interesting as science or math, if you ask me, but Miss Hill is a good teacher. Do you like reading or math better?”

Skye’s brain felt like it was lagging, but eventually she caught up with Fitz’s train of thought and got her mouth to cooperate. “Uh, I don’t know, neither really… School isn’t exactly my favorite thing. I think it’s kind of boring.”

“I suppose that makes sense. I don’t like how slow we have to go sometimes, I’d rather be able to learn about the things I like all the time, instead of getting bogged down with revising every few weeks. It’s much more interesting when you get to work ahead.”

“Sure,” Skye said. She didn’t think Fitz had understood what she had been trying to say. Boring for him and boring for her seemed like they’d be at opposite ends of the smart kid spectrum, but she didn’t feel like correcting him. She was hoping to hold onto their new friend for at least a little while, for Jemma’s sake.

Skye was saved from having to discuss academic rigor with Fitz any further by the arrival of their homeroom teacher. She was a trim white woman with brown hair pulled up in a ponytail, and she had a kind face and clever eyes. Skye guessed that was probably Miss Hill. The teacher spotted her and Jemma, and crossed crisply over to their corner.

“You must be Skye and Jemma,” she said, holding out her hand. Skye shook it with less grace than she had hoped for, but managed to at least not make a total fool of herself. Jemma didn’t make any move to follow suit until Skye nudged her and she reluctantly took the woman’s hand as well.

“My name is Miss Hill; I teach language arts here. I got your information from the office just this morning, and I’m very excited to have you both in class.” Skye wondered exactly what kind of information she had gotten from the office. It couldn’t have been too detailed, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have been quite so excited to have them in her class.

“You both have your schedules? And you know where to find your lockers?” The girls nodded, and Miss Hill smiled warmly. “Wonderful. If you have any questions, you can always ask me. And I see you’ve met Leo. He’s a bit of an expert here at school, so I’m sure he’d be happy to show you around today.” Fitz pumped his head up and down and puffed out his chest slightly. It was clear he liked being thought of as an expert.

Miss Hill showed Skye and Jemma to a pair of desks near the back that were unoccupied and informed them that they would be their assigned seats for homeroom. After the bell, attendance, and some crackly announcements over the loudspeaker, Miss Hill addressed the homeroom at large.

“Class, we have two new students who just transferred here this week.” Skye felt an anchor of dread clunk down in her stomach. She hated the new student speech. She hated being asked to say a few words about herself especially, since she usually had no idea what to say. She wasn’t about to start telling a room full of strangers about living in an orphanage for the past 13 years. “This is Jemma and Skye, so if you see them throughout the day, be sure and say hi, okay?” And just like that, it was over. Miss Hill took her seat behind her desk, and the bell rang a few seconds later. Skye couldn’t believe her luck. No corny introductions, no mortifying public speech. Even though she just met her, she knew she was going to like Miss Hill.

* * *

The morning began to fall into place, and Skye soon realized that this school was pretty much average. She and Jemma had social studies first, and Mrs. Henry seemed cool like Phil had said. Skye didn’t feel nearly as lost in that class as she did in her pre-algebra class, which she had next and without Jemma. Jemma, along with Fitz and several other brainiac kids, had a more advanced regular algebra class at that time, and while Skye was sad to see Jemma go, she was glad to be as far away from math with letters in it as she could.

Science with Mr. DeRosa came next, and Skye had to admit it was wildly entertaining to watch Fitz spar with the weary man. Jemma seemed to have perked up at that point, maybe from being in classes that she liked, or maybe from being around Fitz. She still wasn’t talking, but she wasn’t staring at the ground anymore, and she wrote out copious notes during class that not only answered all of Mr. DeRosa’s questions, but corrected him just like Fitz was doing verbally. Skye didn’t exactly get everything that Jemma was writing down, but she knew by the frenzy with which Jemma was scribbling away that the girl was in her element.

When the bell rang signaling the end of class, Skye stood and realized it was time for lunch, but that she didn’t know where the cafeteria was. She turned and saw Fitz waiting attentively at the door, Jemma a few steps behind him.

“Are you coming to lunch, Skye?” he asked. Jemma shared his expectant look, and Skye just shook her head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you two have already mind-melded me out of the loop,” she chuckled. “Hopefully I’m still cool enough to sit with you at lunch.”

“As long as your body’s resting at a normal temperature, I think you should be fine,” Fitz said as he led them down the stairs and towards the smell of square pizza. Skye honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, so she just let it slide.

The cafeteria was exactly the kind of madhouse Skye had come to expect from middle school lunchrooms. Long tables with attached benches filled the open room, and a line snaked around the perimeter leading up to the hot line. Clusters of kids hunched at tables, heads pressed together as they ate, laughed, and talked amongst their predetermined groups. It was apparent that the tables near the front of the room were marked territory, filled with kids who seemed to be older, prettier, more socially adept than the others. Right away Skye knew those were tables to avoid. Even if she didn’t have a beat on the specific cliques here yet, it didn’t take a genius to tell that this was top-of-the-food-chain seating, and the way Fitz scrunched his shoulders and darted past them was a pretty big signal as well.

Fitz scurried towards a table in the back that was still empty and quickly made himself comfortable. Jemma and Skye followed suit, plunking down at the table and pulling out the brown paper bags Phil had packed in their backpacks as they had left that morning. He had apologized for only having peanut butter and jelly, and said that they could tell him some other things they’d like for lunches later on, but Skye at least was just happy to have a lunch at all. At St. Agnes they had all been on the free lunch program at school, but she had been in more than one foster home that was much less attentive towards the idea of three square meals a day. Plus, she liked peanut butter and jelly, especially because Phil had used strawberry jelly instead of grape. She was pleased to see that there was also an apple and a Ziploc baggie with two Oreos apiece in both her and Jemma’s lunch sacks. She hadn’t realized Phil had put so much thought into their lunches.

“What’s that on your bags?” Fitz asked, pointing to some marks on the back side of the paper bags that Skye hadn’t noticed before. She twisted hers around and saw a kind of goofy-looking cartoon of a superhero she thought was supposed to be Captain America. It looked like he had a shield, at least. Next to it was written “have a SUPER day!” with a big smiley face. It was signed by both May and Phil. A quick glance confirmed that Jemma’s bag had a similar message, and Skye felt her throat get unexpectedly tight. She had no idea why she felt like she was about to cry, but she swallowed hard and shook her head slightly to clear the feeling away. It was almost unbelievable how nice Phil and May were being.

“I guess Phil wrote those on there for us,” Skye said, clearing her throat and offering a shrug. Hopefully if she played it nonchalantly, Fitz wouldn’t notice how choked up she had just gotten over a cartoon. Lucky for her, Fitz seemed oblivious. He was examining the drawing carefully, and then his face split into a grin.

“That’s so cool. And the pun is a nice touch. Wordplay is a sign of intelligence, you know,” he said. Jemma nodded, a real, full smile crossing her own face for the first time that day.

“It was very nice of Phil to do that,” she said, not to anyone in particular. “Clever, too.” Silently, Skye thanked Phil over and over for his kind gestures and little touches. It was things like that that made her feel like maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to trust him a little. It made her happy to see how happy it made Jemma, too.

“Who’s Phil?” Fitz asked, his mouth full of his own sandwich.

Skye bit her lip. She had been hoping to avoid these kinds of questions for at least a little while longer. “Phil, he’s… Well, he’s our… We kind of live with him,” she finally said. She knew it was a lame answer. “You saw him yesterday,” she added, trying to deflect. “He was in the office with us getting us registered.”

“He’s not your dad? What is he then?” Fitz wanted to know. “Why do you live with him? Where did you move from?” Skye grimaced. She should have known that Fitz and his many questions would get to this point faster than normal. Her brain started to feel like scrambled eggs as she tried to settle on a way to answer Fitz’s plethora of inquiries.

“We moved from a place near Sheboygan,” she managed to get out. That was true, at least. St. Agnes was just outside of Sheboygan. That was where a few of her foster families had lived, too.

“Did you live with Phil there, too?” Fitz was persistent, and clearly confused by Skye’s deliberately vague answers. Skye felt bad for not just telling Fitz the whole thing, but it had been her experience that people either used your being a foster kid as fuel to further hassle you or they got really weird when they found out you were an orphan being passed from place to place. She was almost positive Fitz wouldn’t start teasing them for being foster kids, but she was a little worried that Fitz, who was already more than a little awkward at times, would get weirded out and not want to hang out with her and Jemma anymore. Skye didn’t want to lose him as a potential friend herself, of course, but she especially didn’t want to cause him to drop Jemma. Skye didn’t think she had ever seen Jemma make a friend so fast. It had taken her almost four months to even say hello to Skye when they had first met. To be fair, Jemma had grown a lot in the six years since they’d known each other, and she had gotten better about talking to people, but not _that_ much.

“No, we lived at an orphanage in Sheboygan.” Jemma’s voice, so matter of fact, snapped Skye out of her tangled thoughts. Skye’s mouth fell open at Jemma’s admission. So much for shielding Fitz from the truth. “Phil is our foster father, and his wife Melinda May is our foster mother. We’re staying with them for right now.”

“Oh.” Fitz looked pensive, and Skye steeled herself for the gut punch moment where he walked away. “Okay then, that makes sense. So, you’ve not got any biological parents?” Skye was too dumbfounded to respond, but Jemma shook her head.

“We had them at some point, of course, but Skye’s never met hers and mine…” Jemma’s face puckered a little, and she seemed to not be able to get the words out.

“Sorry, you don’t need to tell me,” Fitz said with surprising tenderness. “I know I ask too many questions. You don’t have to answer them.”

“It’s okay.” Skye had finally managed to unstick her jaw in time to reassure him. Beside her, Jemma slipped her hand down from the table and into her lap, where she began to tap softly. Skye was relieved to see that it was more of a self-soothing kind of tap than a frantic, “I’m on the verge of losing it” kind of tap like Jemma had been using earlier in the day.

“Wait, so you two aren’t sisters?” Fitz suddenly blurted out. “I mean, I guess foster sisters, right, but not biological?”

Skye furrowed her brow in disbelief. “You thought we were related? You do know Jemma’s white and I’m… not, right?” She wasn’t exactly sure what her ethnicity was, since she had been a nameless, paperless infant when the nuns had gotten her. Sister Margaret had called her “ethnic” before, which she really hated, and most of the other kids at St. Agnes had just assumed she was Asian, although there wasn’t much specificity in that. Asia was a big continent.

“Well, yeah, I suppose, but you came in together and live together, so I just thought…” Fitz blushed. “I mean, people can be biologically related and have different racial or ethnic backgrounds. Race isn’t even biologically determined, you know. There aren’t actually genetic markers that denote a person’s race, just certain physical characteristics that we’ve come to associate with different groups of people…” Off on a biology tangent, Fitz prattled away about genes and chromosomes, and Skye started to tune him out.

She mulled over the idea of being Jemma’s sister in her head. Even though she had dreamed of living together with Jemma for years, she had never really considered that doing so would make them sisters. Jemma had always just been her Jemma. Her best friend, her confidant, her rock, just like how she was Jemma’s best friend and her best defender. The idea of being able to call Jemma her sister, to say that Jemma was really and truly her family, not just that she felt like the only family Skye had ever known, made a warm, bubbly feeling start to swell in Skye’s chest. She had no idea how long they were going to get to stay with Phil and May, but Skye decided right then that she was going to do everything in her power make Jemma her sister for as long as she could.


	9. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for hospital, mentions of violence/physical abuse

She was starting to lose track of how much time she had spent in the room. Alice the nurse had said she got there “yesterday,” but Bobbi was sure that particular conversation had to have been at least a day or two ago. She knew that she was asleep for most of the time. It was hard to stay awake, between the pain, the medicine, and the pounding memories that snuck up on her while she was awake. She could sit up a little more now, especially now that she had figured out how to rotate the top half of the bed to help ease her up. She had met more nurses, and even a doctor. She hadn’t seen her dad yet, but that was okay. She didn’t really want to see him. Every time, the nurses asked her if she remembered what had happened, and every time she just shook her head. It wasn’t true, but maybe it didn’t count as a lie if she didn’t say anything out loud.

One time, she saw Monica the nurse come into the room with another woman, someone who wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. She was dressed in a pantsuit, and something shiny was on her hip. Neither woman had noticed that she was awake, so Bobbi turned her face and pretended to sleep. She wasn’t sure yet if she wanted to talk to the new person.

“Barbara Morse, age 15. She goes by Bobbi. Her father dropped her off almost three days ago, said she was in a car accident. On paper, her injuries seem consistent with a car crash, but there are some peculiarities that don’t quite line up with what we’d expect from a wreck victim. There’s also some old injuries that seem to have healed a while ago, some healed fractures, things like that. We’ve tried to see what she remembers, but she hasn’t said a word about what happened. The father hasn’t been back to see her since dropping her off, although he has called once to see when she’s supposed to be discharged. I don’t know, Isabelle, something just doesn’t feel right, so we went ahead and made the call to you.”

“Of course.” That was the new woman’s voice. It was a little raspy, but it sounded kind. “I’m glad you did. It never hurts to be overly cautious when it comes to kids.”

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to get much out of her, but I do know you’re better trained than we are with things like that.”

“We’ll see what happens,” the new woman said. “I don’t want to push things right away, but you never know with situations like these. You said she has a little more time before she’s ready for discharge?” Monica the nurse didn’t say anything, so Bobbi figured she must have nodded or shaken her head. She felt confused by the conversation that the women were having, and a little nervous, too. It sounded like the nurses weren’t buying the car wreck story. Maybe she needed to give them something to throw them off the trail. She started to move around slowly, feigning like she was waking up. She blinked her eyes a few times to give the impression of adjusting eyes, and lifted her head slowly, fixing her eyes on Monica.

“Hi Bobbi, I’m glad you’re up,” the nurse said, crossing the room to her bedside. “I have to take your blood pressure, and I have someone who’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.” Bobbi held out her arm for Monica to cinch it in the Velcro cuff. The sleeves of her hospital gown were short, and revealed a mottled pattern of bruises traveling up from her wrist to her shoulder. Only some of them still hurt really badly. Bobbi hadn’t said anything, but she knew some of them had been on her arm long before she had been brought to the hospital. She just hoped that the nurses hadn’t noticed.

“Those are some pretty nasty bruises you got there,” came the voice that Bobbi had attributed to the new woman. She crossed the room to greet Bobbi and shook hands with her. “My name is Detective Hartley, but you can call me Isabelle, or Izzy, if you want. I’m not picky.” Detective Hartley went to sit in the lone chair, making herself comfortable. She was so relaxed it was hard for Bobbi not to feel the same way. Still, though, Bobbi felt like she was on high alert talking to a detective. Detective meant police, and police meant trouble.

“I’ve had my fair share of bruises like that, being on the force,” Detective Hartley shared. “Before that I was an athlete, too, so I was always banged up from a game or a practice. Do you play any sports, Bobbi?”

“I’m on the soccer team at school,” Bobbi said, hesitantly. She was caught off guard by the normalcy of Detective Hartley’s conversation. She had expected the woman to start grilling her about her injuries, not casual small talk. “I played softball, too, but I decided last spring that I didn’t want to do it this year. Too busy.”

“Sure, I understand,” Detective Hartley nodded. “It’s hard for teenagers these days, with school and work and sports and clubs and college apps. Not enough hours in the day, it seems like.” Silence fell between the two for a moment, before Detective Hartley started talking again. Her tone was still casual, but Bobbi could tell that there was a shift. She steeled herself for the line of questioning she knew she as in for.

“So, what do you have besides those bruises?” the detective asked. “I heard you’re pretty roughed up.” Bobbi looked over at Monica, who was finishing up with the blood pressure pump. The nurse gave her an encouraging nod, but Bobbi didn’t feel particularly bolstered by the gesture.

“They said my ribs are messed up, and my lung got punctured, but they operated to help fix it. My knee is really screwed up. I can’t even move it,” she muttered, not looking Detective Hartley or the nurse in the eye.

“Three cracked ribs, one punctured lung, fractured kneecap, minor concussion, and various blunt-force injuries to the face, neck, and arms,” Monica supplemented, apparently not impressed with Bobbi’s downplaying of her own injuries. “But she’s making good progress. We expect to take her off of oxygen tomorrow, and we have a specialist coming to look at her knee later today.” Bobbi offered a tight smile to the nurse. She liked Monica well enough, but she didn’t appreciate her cutting in.

“Sounds like a doozy,” Detective Hartley said. “All that from one car crash?”

“That’s what they tell me,” Bobbi replied tersely. She felt a prickly sensation building up in her, and her defenses were fully engaged. Detective Hartley was wading into sensitive territory.

“So you don’t actually remember the accident?” Detective Hartley asked. “You don’t remember how you got hurt?” Bobbi didn’t say anything. She didn’t like lying, and it was exhausting to have to keep doing it over and over again, but she knew that no one could know the truth. After a moment of deliberation, she just shrugged.

“They said I have a concussion,” she offered, hoping that Detective Hartley would take the bait and accept temporary amnesia.

“Was your dad driving when the accident happened? Was he hurt too? Do you remember where you were going that day? I only ask because the police make reports about car accidents, you know. So we were hoping that you could give us some info, since no one has reported a car accident from the day you got hurt.” Bobbi’s stomach churned. On the one hand, maybe Detective Hartley really was just looking for information about the accident. Unfortunately, Bobbi had none to give. On the other, it seemed pretty clear that Detective Hartley was suspicious of the car wreck story, and Bobbi was starting to feel trapped.

“I… I don’t remember,” Bobbi said, unable to meet Detective Hartley’s gaze. Her voice cracked slightly, and she felt a catch start to build in her throat. She swallowed hard, determined not to cry. That wouldn’t help anything.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Detective Hartley’s tone grew softer, and it was obvious that she felt bad for pushing too hard. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened that day. It’s my job to keep people safe, and make sure everyone is taken care of. Did you go to school that day? Before the crash, I mean?”

She had gone to school that day. She had gone to school and soccer practice, and had gone out with some girls from the team afterwards for food. She knew she shouldn’t have done it, she was already pushing it to be home on time, but she was hungry, and one of her teammates had been teasing her about Mark Lowell, a very handsome 11th grader who worked at the local drive-thru. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had been hoping Mark would be there when she agreed to go. She had forgotten it was company league night, where her dad’s work had a team that played softball against other offices, which meant she was supposed to be home in time to fix his dinner before he had to go play. She remembered the hard way when she walked through the front door an hour and a half late. He reminded her the hard way. It started with yelling – there was always yelling – and then it moved to fists. That was normal, too. She had gotten good at hiding the bruises over the years. He had been drinking, she could tell by the smell, and he seemed in a particularly bad mood, especially once he found out where she had been and why. She had tried to shield herself from the blows, but her arms and head and face got pummeled. One particular punch had landed squarely on her jaw, sending pain radiating through her whole head. Instinctively, she had lashed out. She hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t stop her own hand from taking a swing, trying to push him away from her. That was when he had snapped. Bobbi fought back against jerks at school and hot shots on the soccer field, but she never fought back against him. Until that day. It was all her fault. He got so angry then, and everything became a blur. His gear for the game was near the door, and before she knew what was happening, the bat was in his hand, and then it was smashing against her torso, her leg, anything it could reach. Things got fuzzy after that, that wasn’t a lie. She didn’t remember how she got from a crumpled heap at her house to the hospital bed. All she remembered was the pain, blow after blow, until everything went dark.

Her throat felt thick, and the corners of her eyes grew hot with tears. She bent her head forward, staring at her lap. It was so hard to keep the truth hidden, but she knew she could never tell. He’d kill her for sure. She just wished everyone would leave her alone.

“Bobbi?” Detective Hartley’s voice was tender, and barely above a whisper. “There was no car accident, was there?” Bobbi took a shuddery breath that rattled her aching ribs. The tears that were pooling started to spill over, streaking tracks down the sides of her face. She was so tired of lying. So tired of being afraid. So tired.

Without looking up from her lap, she shook her head the smallest fraction of an inch. Somewhere beside her, Monica inhaled sharply. Bobbi felt her shoulders start to crumple under the weight of her life, of her lies. She just wanted to go to sleep.

“Bobbi, did someone do this to you?” Detective Hartley’s voice remained unchanged, despite Bobbi’s admission. Tears were falling thick and fast now, but Bobbi didn’t make a sound. Maybe if she didn’t say a word, it would be like none of this ever happened.

“Was it your dad, Bobbi? Is he the one who’s been hurting you?” Yes. For years and years, ever since her mom walked out, ever since he started blaming his daughter, his only child, for all the misfortunes of his life. Over and over, day after day. But she could never say it. She could never tell.

“We can make it stop, Bobbi. We can make sure no one hurts you like this again. But we need to know who did it so we can keep you safe.” Safe. Safe. Safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt safe. Wouldn’t it be nice to feel that way? She wanted it, so desperately, but she was so afraid. Her chest ached from trying to control her breathing, from the secrets inside that were on the verge of spilling out. He nearly killed her this last time. Surely he would do even worse next time if she told. If she didn’t tell though, there would always be a next time, and eventually that would get worse no matter what. It would never end.

The thought of living under her dad’s thumb, always afraid of him and his anger, until one day he went too far, was starting to suffocate her. And something clicked. She knew something had to change. Something had to be different. And so, with the smallest movement and the biggest courage she could muster, she nodded her head.


	10. Gym Class (Predictably) Sucks

After lunch, Skye, Jemma, and Fitz all had language arts together, and they found themselves back in Miss Hill’s room from that morning. Miss Hill let Skye and Jemma take empty seats near Fitz’s in the back, rather than force them into awkward assigned seats like other teachers normally did, which Skye appreciated. Right before the bell rang, she brought over copies of a book called _The Giver_ from one of her many packed shelves and gave one each to Skye and Jemma.

“This is the book we’ve been working on in class,” she explained. “We’re talking about chapter nine today, but you can just listen since you haven’t read the book yet. Maybe over the weekend you two can try and catch up so that you know what’s going on in the story.”

“We can take these home?” asked Skye, a little incredulous.

“Of course,” said Miss Hill, nodding. “These are yours to borrow for as long as we’re working on _The Giver_. Once we’re finished with it, you’ll bring them back and then I’ll hand out our next book.”

“Like a library,” Jemma suggested. Skye was pleased to see that their time at lunch seemed to have snapped Jemma out of her silence in the classroom as well.

“Precisely.” Miss Hill smiled, and Skye could have sworn she saw Jemma sit up a little straighter. Miss Hill drifted away from them then, turning her attention to a few other students who were sliding into their seats as the bell rang.

“Nine chapters sounds like a lot of reading,” Skye grumbled to herself. Miss Hill was definitely her favorite teacher so far, but Skye couldn’t help but feel a little resentful at the prospect of so much reading over the weekend. She didn’t dislike reading per se, but her struggles with the subject when she was younger had made books feel a lot more like a chore than a pleasure.

As the class discussed the content of the chapter they had just read, Skye decided that _The Giver_ sounded like a confusing and pointless book. Apparently, the boy in it got a new job, even though he was only twelve, and one of the rules of his job was that he could lie. Skye couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t have been allowed to lie before. She had been lying long before she was twelve, and nearly every adult she had ever met had basically lied to her constantly. The nuns, her teachers, most of her foster parents. Miss Hand tried her best not to lie to Skye, but she knew there were times where she kept things from her. So far Phil and May hadn’t lied to her, either, but she had only known them a few days. The only person who Skye knew for sure had never lied to her was Jemma, and part of that was because Skye was pretty sure Jemma was physically incapable of lying. Jemma was honest, sometimes to a fault, and in turn she was trusting, too. Skye did her best to honor how trusting Jemma was, and she worked hard to make sure she was more honest with Jemma than anyone else.

Skye had been so wrapped up in her thoughts about the truth that she almost didn’t notice when the bell rang and everyone started packing up. Fortunately, Jemma’s deliberate and meticulous stowing of her belongings gave Skye time to catch up, and the two girls followed Fitz dutifully as he led them downstairs towards the smell of overripe socks. Gym class.

Having seen her fair share of gym classes over the years, Skye wasn’t surprised by what she found inside the gymnasium: overly waxed floors painted over with the lines for basketball and volleyball courts, folded up bleachers in the corner, a rack of basketballs ready for play, and a whistle-wearing coach who looked like his glory days of being varsity captain were well behind him. A group of kids already in gym clothes milled around, some goofing off with the basketballs, while others in normal clothes filed into locker rooms on either side of the gym.

Skye sucked in a breath. She hadn’t thought about the prospect of changing into different clothes for gym class. Neither she nor Jemma had enough extra clothing to really spare an entire outfit just for one class, and most of her old schools hadn’t really enforced a PE dress code, except for Our Lady of Mercy, which had had a uniform both for school and gym that the nuns provided them.

“You there! I don’t know you two!” a gruff voice barked out, reverberating off the hard wood floors and high rafters. The coach was staring at Skye and Jemma, his eyes narrowed. Skye drug Jemma behind her and approached the grouchy man. He was well-built and had receding brown hair, plus a sour look on his face. He scanned over a clipboard he had clutched in his hand, then looked back at Skye and Jemma.

“Mary Sue Poots and Jenna Simmons?” he asked. Something in his voice made Skye think that he didn’t really care one way or the other what their names were.

“I’m Skye, and this is _Jemma_. We’re new,” Skye informed him, keeping her own tone as flat as she could. A gut instinct told her to do her best to not push his buttons.

“Says Mary Sue here on my roster,” he growled. Skye felt a flash of anger, but swallowed it down just as quickly as it had arisen. Behind her, she could almost feel Jemma start to tremble. Mentally she begged Jemma to not start tapping in front of this man. She had enough experience with irritable, power-tripping men to know that something like Jemma’s tapping would not be taken well.

“That’s my official name, but I prefer Skye,” she explained, forcing herself to stay calm. “It should be listed on the roster as a nickname.” Every other teacher she had had so far that day had been able to see that on their own list, thanks to Phil’s addition of her preferred name on all of her paperwork yesterday. The coach grumbled something incoherent while scratching out a line on his clipboard with a pen that he uncapped with his oddly square teeth. Once the pen was recapped and his mouth was free, he turned back to the girls.

“Okay, whatever, it’s no skin off my nose. Just get out there and don’t let me catch you slacking or making trouble. If there’s one thing I don’t tolerate in my class, it’s troublemakers and slackers. And you look like you could be both.” His last sentence seemed to be directed specifically at Skye, but she didn’t protest. She had no interest in provoking him before the class had even started.

Despite the fact that they were still right in front of him, the coach gave two sharp blasts on his whistle and bellowed out to the rest of the class.

“All right pipsqueaks, let’s get moving!” Jemma flinched at the sudden loud noise, and Skye knew she was resisting the urge to cover her ears. Around them, kids started jogging around the perimeter of the gym. The coach glared at them, as if to say _well, what are you waiting for?_ Gritting her teeth to keep her temper in check, Skye turned and fell in step with a pack of kids as they passed.

“Don’t let Coach Garrett get to you,” said a tall black boy who had pulled up beside her. She thought maybe she recognized him from her history class that morning. He was lean and athletic-looking, and the jog seemed to be costing him little effort. He smiled broadly as Skye looked up at him inquisitively. “He’s a tough customer, but he’ll lay off once he sees you can work.”

“He’s not exactly cuddly,” Skye griped, pumping her legs to keep up with the boy’s long strides. The boy laughed.

“No, definitely not. He’s our football coach for the middle and high school teams, and he runs PE like he runs practice. No mercy and all that.” The boy offered a shrug as they rounded the corner. Skye chanced a glance behind her and saw that Jemma was jogging half-heartedly alongside Fitz several paces behind them. Fitz was already red in the face, and his arms flailed awkwardly at his side as he tried to settle into a decent running form.

“My name’s Antoine Triplett, but everybody calls me Trip,” the boy said, flashing another grin. “Peewee football nickname that just kinda stuck, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m Skye,” she replied, returning his smile. “That’s Jemma back there with Fitz. We just moved here from Sheboygan.”

“Looks like the two of them became fast friends,” Trip remarked, looking over his shoulder at the duo. Skye couldn’t read his expression as his gaze fell on Fitz. Up ahead, a group of boys called out to Trip and beckoned him to them. “Team calls,” Trip said. He gave Skye a wave, then put on a burst of speed and joined his friends. Skye slowed her own pace to draw closer to Jemma and Fitz.

“Saw you… talking to… Trip,” Fitz panted. “You should… watch out… for… football.” Fitz gestured weakly towards the boys ahead of them, unable to finish his sentence.

“He seemed okay, but I only talked to him for like two seconds,” Skye admitted. “I’ll stay away, if you think I should.” Fitz didn’t respond, just waved his hands like he was clearing the air. A blast of the whistle cut through the air, and everyone stopped their running and moved towards the rack of basketballs off to the side. Fitz gasped down a few lungfuls of air and caught his breath.

“It doesn’t matter to me who you talk to, I just thought you should know that a lot of those football guys are trouble. So you can make an informed decision and all that.” He said it with genuine concern, and Skye felt touched by gesture. She was glad he didn’t sound spiteful or jealous like some other kids she had known who had tried to dictate who she socialized with, just worried that she didn’t know what she was getting herself into. 

“Thanks, Fitz,” she said, giving him a nod. They arrived at the basketballs, and listened as Coach Garrett barked out the teams for the day’s class. Skye didn’t know much about the other kids in the class, but it definitely seemed to her like Garrett was very intentionally placing the more athletic kids all on the same team. She, Jemma, and Fitz all ended up on the “blue team,” which was captained by a girl who Skye had seen sucking on an asthma inhaler a few minutes ago, while Trip and his football teammates and a number of other equally-athletic kids made up the “red team,” captained by a tall, muscular boy with short brown hair and a smirk. He would have been kind of good-looking, in Skye’s opinion, if he hadn’t been wearing an expression of such superiority. She got the feeling that this was the kind of kid who ruled the place and expected to be treated as such. The boy caught her looking at him, and flashed her a wink. Unlike Phil’s winks, which felt jovial and like he was sharing an inside joke with whoever was on the receiving end, this particular wink made Skye’s skin crawl.

“Captains, circle up for a jump ball!” Garrett shouted, ignoring the fact that everyone was close enough that he could have just spoken at a normal volume. As they moved into position on the court, Garrett said, in what must have been an undertone for him but was still loud enough for everyone to hear: “Try to go easy on ‘em, will you, Ward?” The boy, Ward, Skye supposed, just smirked again, before launching into the air to tip the basketball backwards into Trip’s waiting hands before asthma girl had even registered that Garrett had blown the whistle and tossed the ball upwards.

To no one’s surprise, the red team dominated the game. Some of their players, like Trip, seemed to lighten up a little, and tried to give the blue team a chance to take the ball past midcourt, at least, but most of them, including that Ward guy, were too busy showboating and making unnecessarily impressive plays to offer any kind of compassion. Even Trip seemed to be a little caught up in demonstrating for his teammates, sinking baskets from farther out than almost anybody. He did slack off on defense though, and didn’t try to steal the ball from Skye when she attempted to dribble it up the court.

Coach Garrett was no help at all, encouraging his star players to go for bigger and better plays and calling out the blue team callously for their “lack of effort.” At one point, when Skye tried to block the path of the big Ward kid, he shoved a solid forearm into her shoulder, knocking her backwards. With his path clear, he made an easy layup, then circled back around to where Skye sat on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” he said smugly, offering her a hand up. Skye didn’t accept it, and scrambled to her feet on her own. She scowled at the boy.

“You know that’s a foul?” she asked in her toughest voice. The boy laughed, but not in a kind way.

“Coach didn’t call it, so it looks like I’m safe,” he shrugged. His tone was sly, like he knew Skye knew he was messing with her but didn’t care. “Haven’t seen you around before.” It wasn’t a question, so Skye didn’t dignify it with a response as they both started jogging down the court once again. She tried to move away from him and focus on basketball, but he dogged her every move.

“I’m Grant,” he said, practically in her ear. Skye glared and cut towards the basket, trying to create distance between them. “Grant Ward. What about you?”

“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” Skye was seething. She was liking this Grant Ward less and less, and she wasn’t the least bit interested in having him hanging around for the rest of class. He just smirked again.

“Depends on how much I like your name,” he teased. Skye looked around, hoping that someone else was noticing what was happening between the two of them. Coach Garrett wasn’t paying attention at all, and Trip was too busy taking another three-point shot to be looking at her and Grant Ward. Jemma was watching intently, though, and Skye felt relief flood though her. Even if Jemma wasn’t the type to intervene, the fact that Skye had a witness was enough to embolden her. She checked once more to make sure that Garrett wasn’t paying her mind, then stomped down hard on Grant Ward’s foot. He hissed in pain, and began hopping up and down, massaging his toes through his sneaker. His expression twisted to one of pure venom.

“Well my name’s Skye, and I don’t think I like you one bit, Grant Ward,” she snapped. “So do us both a favor and buzz off.” With that, Skye zipped over the side of the court where Jemma was standing, and made sure to stick by her side for the remainder of the class. To his credit, Ward stayed away for the rest of the game, only shooting Skye the occasional look of loathing. Skye didn’t mind. She could take dirty looks all day. She was just glad to be as far away from him as possible.

As the class ended and they headed out of the gym, Fitz congratulated her on standing up to Ward.

“He’s on the football team and is one of Coach Garrett’s favorites,” Fitz told them. “There are rumors that he’ll be on varsity next year at the high school, even though he’ll only be a freshman. Obviously he’s at the top of the proverbial food chain here, even though he’s insufferable. Him and all his friends, really. I can’t believe you did that to him, Skye.”

“He was being a creep,” Skye shrugged. “I don’t like creeps.”

“You should be careful, though,” Fitz warned, his face puckering with worry. “You definitely don’t want to be on his bad side. He’s not exactly the type to let things go. I wouldn’t try to antagonize him any more than you already have.” Jemma made a worried sound beside them, and her hand slipped down to her side and began to tap.

“It’s fine,” Skye assured them both. “I’ve dealt with plenty of creeps and bullies before. I can handle myself. You know I can, Jemma.” She turned to Jemma and gave her hand a squeeze. She didn’t need Jemma worrying about her on top of everything else. Jemma looked unconvinced, but Fitz seemed to take her at her word.

They parted ways then, Fitz and Jemma heading towards some astronomy elective that Skye had zero interest in, and Skye towards the only class on her schedule she had truly been looking forward to: computer science. It made her happy to think that Phil had remembered her comment about liking computers on the night they met and had selected computer science for her elective. It made her even more happy to think that she would get to not only use computers every day, but actually learn about how they worked from a real teacher, not just outdated books from the library and grainy YouTube tutorials on coding.

After only one wrong turn, she managed to get herself to the computer lab, where she was greeted by a young black woman who introduced herself as Ms. Amador.

“You can take the computer over there next to Lincoln,” the teacher said, pointing to a white boy with scruffy blonde hair that looked like it could use a good combing. The boy was too absorbed in his own work to say much, but he did smile and nod at Skye as she sat down. The lack of pleasantries didn’t bother Skye in the least. She was here for the computers and nothing else.

The next hour was the highlight of Skye’s day. Ms. Amador was a good teacher, and the class was just starting a new unit on website design, so Skye had hardly any catch-up to do. They spent the better part of the hour talking about things like HTML and JavaScript, and Skye was completely entranced. Some of the material felt a little over her head, but it was so interesting that she felt like she was going to have a handle on it in no time. Nothing felt fully foreign to her, the way some of her other classes, like math and language arts had, and Skye loved the feeling of control that came with having a grasp on the subject. She wondered if this was how Jemma felt all the time in school. If so, she was envious. The feeling was intoxicating.

* * *

The day ended back in Miss Hill’s classroom, where Skye, Jemma, and Fitz all had something called Flex Time. It was basically a glorified study hall, but Skye didn’t mind. Her brain was pretty much at capacity for the day, and she welcomed an hour of time where no one was trying to cram any more information into it. Fitz and Jemma used their time to work on some insanely complicated-looking math homework that had x’s and y’s all mixed in with the numbers, so Skye did her best to work on her own math homework. She hadn’t really understood anything that had been covered in the class that day, and so, as she stared blankly at the worksheet in front of her, it didn’t take long for the numbers to start swimming off of the page. It was so hard for Skye to make her buzzing brain focus on anything beyond the fact that she felt lost and she hated math. She was supposed to be multiplying and dividing fractions, but nothing about that made sense. A fraction wasn’t a whole number, so how could she multiply anything by it? And somehow the answer was supposed to smaller than the original number, even though multiplying was supposed to make things bigger, she thought. And Mr. Bennet had said something about flipping the fraction upside down, but Skye didn’t know why you would do that or which problems that was supposed to be for.

Skye felt her cheeks grow warm with frustration as she stared helplessly at the numbers crawling around on her page. Shoving the paper roughly into her backpack, Skye tried to put the math out of her mind. She would just ask Jemma for help once they got home. She pulled out the copy of _The Giver_ that Miss Hill had lent her instead, but once again found it nearly impossible to focus. The first page of the book didn’t seem promising, and Skye couldn’t figure out why the boy in it was talking about being afraid of airplanes. It seemed like a boring thing to write about, and a boring thing to be afraid of. There were a few words that she skipped over, because she didn’t exactly know what they meant, but she was fairly confident that even knowing those few words wouldn’t have improved the story.

She spent the rest of the time pretending to read, but really instead she watched the other kids in the class. Most of them worked diligently on homework, a few read books. Two boys near the front were playing a furtive game of paper football, flicking the folded triangle back and forth between them. They were quiet enough to not draw the attention of Miss Hill, who was working one on one with a student on a grammar worksheet. Skye decided then that making her own paper football would be infinitely more interesting than any of her homework, so she pulled a blank sheet of paper from her notebook and set to work folding it into the right shape. The sound of the paper ripping out of its rings caused Miss Hill to glance up at her, but she looked away again before Skye started folding. It wasn’t hard to make the football, and Skye enjoyed the back and forth motion of the folding. There was something soothing about it. Quickly, she made another one, and another.

By the time Skye had ripped out a fourth sheet of paper, Miss Hill had noticed and come over to her desk.

“Skye,” Miss Hill said quietly, “why don’t you work on something a little more productive?” Her face wasn’t angry, and her tone was pleasant, but Skye still felt her whole face go hot with embarrassment and shame. She hadn’t meant to be unproductive; it was just that paper footballs captured her attention much more than math or reading had. Upset with herself, Skye crumpled all of her papers up into a wad and crammed them into her backpack. Roughly, she picked her book back up again and reopened it to the first page, blinking back tears.

“It’s okay, Skye,” Miss Hill soothed. “I just need you to be a little less disruptive. Thank you for listening.” Skye bore her eyes into the book, not reading a word but determined to stare at the page until Miss Hill left and she didn’t feel like crying anymore. Miss Hill seemed to take the hint, and returned to her own desk. Skye was sure Jemma was looking worried beside her, and she was sure that Fitz thought she was bad and stupid, and that the rest of the class hated her for being disruptive while they were working. Fortunately, as soon as Miss Hill walked away from her, it seemed like everyone else lost interest, but that didn’t stop Skye from feeling sick with anger and shame. She knew in her head that she was overreacting, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself calm down, so she just sat there for the last fifteen minutes of the day with her eyes locked on page one.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and Skye wasted no time in throwing her things into her backpack and bolting for the door. She probably should have waited for Jemma, but Skye felt like every bone in her body was vibrating with her need to get out of the room. She knew Jemma would understand, and figured that if she waited in the hallway, at least, Jemma wouldn’t worry too much.

Jemma came out after another minute or so, her backpack snuggly strapped across her shoulders. Fitz was behind her, along with a few other students and Miss Hill. Miss Hill was waving and saying goodbye to everyone as they filed past her, and when Jemma reached Skye and began to move down the hallway with her, Miss Hill waved to them both as well.

“Bye Jemma, bye Skye. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She didn’t sound mad, and Skye gave her a half-hearted wave before disappearing down the bustling hallway, but the bad, guilty feeling still gnawed away at her stomach.

“You know the front doors are this way?” Fitz asked, pointing in the opposite direction. His face was scrunched up in what Skye was beginning to think was his signature look of confusion.

“We have to go to the library,” Skye said.

Jemma nodded. “Phil said to wait there until he can come pick us up.”

“Oh,” Fitz looked a little crestfallen. “So I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“Just until tomorrow,” Jemma comforted him. Skye bit back a chuckle at how tender the two were being. They had only known each other a day and a half and already they were brokenhearted about spending time away from each other. She wondered for a fleeting moment if she should be jealous of Jemma’s fast, new friend, but the happy look on Jemma’s face when she was around Fitz evaporated that notion almost instantly. Jemma could have more than one friend, really should have more than one friend, and Jemma being happy made Skye more happy than anything.

“Okay, then,” Fitz said, giving them both a wave. “I have to go meet my cousin. He picks me up every day. See you tomorrow.” He turned then, and vanished into the throngs of kids heading towards the front doors of the school, leaving Jemma and Skye to make their way to the library alone.


	11. Trouble with Homework

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief mention of abuse

They only had to wait another half hour before Phil’s cheery face poked through the doors of the school library. There were a few other kids in there with them, but for the most part the school had fallen empty and quiet in less than ten minutes after the final bell had rung. Skye had spent most of her time fooling around on a school computer, trying out some of the new things that Ms. Amador had taught them, and Jemma sat next to her, pressed into her side, reading _The Giver_ for language arts. She held the book in one hand and tapped almost absentmindedly on the table with the other.

The sight of Phil’s warm smile filled Skye with a feeling she couldn’t quite name. It was good, and a little bubbly, but a little nervous, too. Phil stopped briefly to chat with the librarian, then came over and greeted Skye and Jemma with a beam.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes crinkling up with a familiarity that Skye was beginning to find comforting. “Ready to go? I can’t wait to hear how your day went.” They packed up quickly and followed Phil out of the school and towards the car without comment. Once they were all safely buckled in and on the road, Phil glanced back at them in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows quirked up with questions.

“Well? How was it?” The buoyancy that he had had in the library had deflated, and Skye heard a tinge of worry creeping into his voice. Skye felt bad that she couldn’t return his earlier good mood back to him. She pondered the day, weighing the positives and negatives. Hanging out with Fitz had been good, and computer science had been great, but gym with Grant Ward and getting in trouble with Miss Hill had both definitely sucked.

“It was fine,” she finally said. She didn’t meet Phil’s eyes in the mirror, and she tried to sound nonchalant. She decided she wasn’t really interested in hashing out every painful detail with him, in the car or otherwise.

Jemma had answered almost simultaneously, although her assessment of the day was that it had been good. Phil nodded thoughtfully at both of their responses.

“Good, I’m glad it went okay. Did you meet any other kids or make any friends? How about your teachers, did you like them okay?”

“Fitz was there,” Jemma piped. “He was in every single one of my classes with me. He knows about algebraic inequalities and cell structure and astronomy. Mr. Daniels is our astronomy teacher, and we got to look at satellite photos of star systems, and Fitz and I knew the names of all the constellations.”

“Wow, that sounds great,” Phil chuckled. “What about you, Skye?”

Skye just shrugged. She thought it was a little funny, how Jemma was suddenly the chatterbox of the two of them, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. The memory of the disastrous Flex Time was still clawing at her brain, and she worried that if she tried to talk about school, she would start blubbering about making Miss Hill hate her.

“Did you have a favorite class?” Phil pressed. He sounded concerned, which only made Skye feel worse. He would probably be really disappointed to learn that she got in trouble on her first day. Still, he didn’t seem like he was going to give up, so Skye set her jaw and forced herself to answer.

“Computer science was good,” she told him, eyes in her lap and fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

“You know, Miss Amador used to be a student of mine a few years ago,” Phil said. “I was hoping you would like her. She’s really great…” Phil began rambling off on a tangent then, reminiscing about his former students. Skye tuned him out and focused on swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn’t know why she was still so upset about what had happened with Miss Hill. It wasn’t like she hadn’t gotten in trouble at school a million times before. Maybe it had something to do with how Skye thought she was going to like Miss Hill at first, or maybe it was because she didn’t want to give Phil and May a reason to send her back and separate her from Jemma. She wasn’t really sure, but whatever the reason, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had been plaguing her since the end of the school day.

When they got home, Phil showed them some hooks by the door where they could leave their backpacks, and offered to fix them a snack. Skye and Jemma shared a look at that. Neither one of them had ever lived anywhere that gave you food in-between meals.

“You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to,” Phil backpedaled, misinterpreting their expressions. “It’s just if you’re hungry. I know I get hungry after school most days, and it’ll be a few hours before dinner.” After another silent conference, both Skye and Jemma nodded and followed Phil into the kitchen, where he wasted no time in a few apples, some graham crackers, and a jar of peanut butter.

“This is one of my favorites,” he said, starting to spread peanut butter across the crackers and sandwiching the pieces together. Skye took one and bit into it hesitantly. She was pleasantly surprised by the taste, and polished off the cracker in a few quick bites. Jemma nibbled on an apple, eyeing the snack with a little more suspicion than Skye had. Skye pushed a cracker towards Jemma with a nod. She was pretty sure that Jemma would like it, but sometimes she needed an extra push to try unfamiliar things. Taking her cue from Skye, Jemma set down her apple and swapped it for Phil’s peanut butter creation. After a tentative bite, her face broke into a smile and she, like Skye, wolfed down the newfound treat. Phil watched with amusement, pleased that they had both liked his handiwork.

“I have some quizzes to grade, and I’m sure you both have homework,” he said, putting the peanut butter and graham crackers back into the cabinet. “What do you say we all set up at the table and get some work done?”

Skye tried her best not to grimace. She, like pretty much any kid she knew besides Jemma, hated homework. She had been hoping to put it off for a few hours at least, but it seemed like Phil was a “do it straight-away” type of foster parent. That really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, she thought. Phil didn’t seem like the type to leave them to their own devices when it came to homework, which was probably a good thing in the long run. While Skye preferred foster parents who didn’t care one way or the other when it came to homework, since that meant she could get away with not doing it, she knew avoiding it always came back to bite.

Resigned to the torturous fate of math worksheets and reading homework, Skye lugged her backpack over to the kitchen table and joined Phil, who was spreading out a stack of quiz papers, and Jemma, who had neatly set up her work across from him.

“It’s been a few years since I was in middle school,” Phil joked, “but let me know if you have any questions and I’ll see what I can do. Mel’s a whiz with spelling and vocab, too, so she’s always a good one to ask for help as well.”

Skye already knew she was going to need Jemma’s help with her math, and she didn’t want Phil to think she was stupid, so she opted to leave the worksheet alone until she could ask Jemma for help in private. That left _The Giver_. Complicated feelings about Miss Hill swirled up in her chest as she opened the book to the first page for what felt like the millionth time that day. She tried to focus, but the words seemed to float in and out of her brain before she could piece together what they were actually saying. The kitchen was quiet, except for the tick of the clock and the occasional scratch of Phil’s pen on the quizzes. The silence was burrowing into Skye’s head and making her feel crazy. She knit her eyebrows together and tried to pour every ounce of energy into absorbing the stupid book. Beside her, Jemma whisked through some kind of diagram that must have been for her astronomy class. There were dots all over the page that were supposed to be stars for Jemma to label. Jemma rocked back and forth ever so slightly as she worked, shifting her weight to and fro to some internal rhythm that only she could sense. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it, it looked so natural. Skye began to bounce her knee up and down under the table, hoping that getting her body moving would make her brain start to move as well. Sometimes that trick helped if she got stuck at school.

“Skye?” Phil’s voice cut through the haze and caught her attention. “Is everything okay?” She felt a frown start to crease her face.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. For some reason, her tone came out harsher than she meant it to. She felt a little bad, but she was on the defensive.

“Okay. You’re just shaking the table a little. I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He was smiling, but Skye didn’t want to smile back. It was Flex time all over again. Her frown deepened into a scowl. She planted her foot against the floor, digging her heel in to stop her leg from bouncing up and down.

“I’ll stop,” she said, ducking her head.

“It’s okay,” Phil said quickly. “It’s not bothering me, I just know sometimes when I get agitated I start fidgeting like that.”

“I’m not agitated,” Skye lied. She didn’t take her eyes off of the book for fear that they would reveal the truth. “I’m sorry for fidgeting.”

She thought back briefly to a foster mother she had had once when she was much smaller, a lady named Mrs. Murphy. She was a stern, older woman who seemed like she would have fit right in with the nuns at St. Agnes. She hadn’t liked fidgeters either, and Skye had had a hard time keeping still at that age. Any time she had gotten too hyperactive, which in Mrs. Murphy’s opinion was anytime she had wanted to run, climb, jump, or wiggle around like any normal five-year-old, Mrs. Murphy would make her sit in the “stillness chair.” Skye shuddered, thinking of the hard, wooden chair and the way that Mrs. Murphy would strap her to the seat with bungee cords and tie her hands down to the arms of the chair to keep her from moving. She had spent a lot of time in that chair before she had been sent back to St. Agnes for kicking the chair over one night and knocking it into Mrs. Murphy. There was a very stern entry about “violent outbursts” in her file after that incident, she was sure.

“It’s really okay, Skye,” said Phil gently. When she didn’t respond, he tried to change the subject. “How’s the book? Is that for Miss Hill’s class?” Skye just shrugged.

“It’s fine. It’s about a kid who’s scared of airplanes or something.” Jemma glanced over at Skye then, a look of sadness on her face. No, not sadness, Skye corrected herself. More like disappointment.

“Well, the aeroplane is only really there for a moment,” Jemma explained. A sour taste burned in Skye’s mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knew she hadn’t understood anything in the dumb book. Jemma was watching her as she spoke, and Skye could tell that Jemma was picking up on her frustration. “Maybe we could read it together?” Jemma offered. Gratitude flooded Skye’s senses. Jemma understood, and Jemma never judged her or thought she was dumb. She could always count on Jemma for help.

“That’s a great idea,” Phil chimed in. “Reading out loud helps me understand better, sometimes. Plus, that way I’d get to hear the story, too.” His eyes twinkled, and Skye couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Of course Phil wanted to hear the story, even if the book was dumb and didn’t make any sense.

For the next half hour or so, she and Jemma took turns reading pages of their book out loud to each other. Jemma read more than Skye did, even though her voice was shy, since she had less trouble with the harder words. Phil, to his credit, didn’t watch them as they read, which helped make them feel less self-conscious, but Skye could tell he was paying attention. Skye still couldn’t figure out what was going on in the book, but at least she was past the first page now. It seemed to her that whoever the main kid was, he either didn’t live in the same world as them, or he was really bad at describing ordinary things.

They were still at the table reading when May walked in. Phil had moved to the stove, and was starting to cook, but he was still listening. He greeted May as she hung up her coat and gave her a peck on the cheek as she came into the kitchen.

“Hello all,” she said warmly, giving Skye and Jemma a wave. “I’m going to drop off my stuff in the office, and then I’d love to hear how today went.”

“Keep reading,” Jemma whispered, nudging Skye as May walked out. “We’re almost to the end of the page, and then we can stop.” Jemma didn’t like to stop in the middle of things, so Skye obliged and forged ahead with the incomprehensible book.

“‘‘Did you find it?’ Jonas asked,’” Skye read. She didn’t put much emotion or intonation into her reading, but Jemma didn’t seem to mind. “‘He was fask… fask-in…’” She looked up at Jemma helplessly.

“Fascinated,” Jemma supplied without a second thought.

“Oh, yeah, okay, I knew that,” Skye chided herself. “‘He was fascinated. It didn’t seem a terribly important rule, but the fact that his father had broken a rule at all aw… aw-wed…’” She trailed off again.

“Awed. Like amazed. In awe,” came Jemma’s helpful addition. Skye scowled at the page.

“‘awed him. He glanced at his mother, the one respons… responsible for ad…ad-her…” A sound of strangled frustration escaped her. “I hate this stupid book!” Without thinking, she flung the book away from her, harder than she’d meant to. The book flew across the kitchen and skidded on the floor, coming to a stop at the feet of May, who had just reentered the room.

“Skye! Hey!” May looked surprised, and Skye felt the color drain from her face. Throwing things was usually a big no for most people, especially when you threw things _at_ people, even accidentally.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Skye spluttered. Her voice caught in her throat, and she could feel all of the anger and embarrassment and choked-back tears from the day bubbling up inside of her, creating a toxic mixture with the terror that had gripped her in anticipation of May’s reaction.

May’s face was stony and hard to read, but she definitely looked unhappy. Off to the side, Phil looked a little taken aback, and Skye didn’t have to look at Jemma to know the girl was probably petrified.

“Skye,” May’s voice was low and serious. Not a good sign. “We don’t throw things in this house.” She bent down and picked up the book, smoothing out the crumpled cover. Skye felt her chin start to tremble, and her eyes started to swim. She blinked hard, trying not to cry.

May walked over to the table, set the book down, and took a seat. “Why did you throw this? What’s going on?” Skye was surprised at the reaction. The last house she had thrown something in, a snow boot that she had gotten frustrated with doing the laces on, her foster dad had thrown it right back at her, clocking her in the head. She was pretty sure May wouldn’t do that, but sitting down for a chat was definitely not what she had expected either.

All the bad feelings that were churning away inside of her were still stewing, and for some reason Skye felt herself getting defensive at May’s off-kilter response.

“It’s just a dumb book, and I’m tired of reading it,” she snipped, glaring at the tabletop.

“And you thought throwing it was the best way to handle that?” May asked evenly. Skye felt a tear threatening to slip, and she ground her knuckles into her eyes to clear them, hoping that May wouldn’t notice. She knew that she was acting petulant, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself stop.

“Skye.” Phil spoke then. His tone was a little more gentle than May’s but no less serious. “I know you’re feeling frustrated by the book—”

“I am not!” Skye blurted. She clamped her mouth shut, chastising herself for talking back. She might as well be packing her bags this minute. No one wanted a kid who couldn’t read, threw books, and talked back all in one terrible package. She heard a whimper from Jemma’s direction, and felt herself snap back to reality. She couldn’t get sent back. She couldn’t get separated from Jemma. She had to do damage control.

“I’m sorry,” she backpedaled, her voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Phil said. “Thank you for apologizing.”

“If you’re not feeling frustrated, then maybe you could tell us what you _are_ feeling?” suggested May. “Is there a reason why you threw the book?” Skye was silent for a moment. She didn’t know how to explain the angry, jumbled feelings she had or how the book was out of her hand before she had even realized what she had done. If she’d had a second to think, she probably wouldn’t have thrown it.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I was mad, I guess. I didn’t mean to.”

“What made you mad?”

Skye shrugged, still avoiding May and Phil’s eyes. “I just… don’t like feeling dumb.” She felt the lump return to her throat, and took a shuddery breath. The tears that she had pushed away all afternoon resurfaced, and a fat one rolled down her face, perching on the tip of her nose. The room was silent for a moment, until Jemma spoke in a small voice.

“You’re not dumb, Skye.”

“Jemma’s right, Skye, you aren’t dumb. But I understand how difficult it is to feel like that, even when it’s not true,” May said. Skye looked up for the first time, and saw that the hard look on May’s face had been replaced by a much softer one. “Do you remember what I told you last night?”

“That the important thing was to try,” Skye murmured, swiping at her damp face with her sleeve. May nodded.

“Yes, and from what I heard you were doing just that when you were reading. That’s all Phil and I ever want.”

“It’s always more important to me when my students do their best, even if they don’t get it exactly right,” he said. “And the same thing goes for both of you. Trying and messing up is always better than not trying at all.”

“And speaking of trying,” May said, looking pointedly at Skye, “let’s also try to not throw things when we get angry. Throwing things can be dangerous, and someone could get hurt, or something could get broken. That’s why we don’t do it. There are other things we can do to control our anger instead.”

Skye nodded sheepishly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any tricks that you use to calm down?” asked Phil. “I have a song that I hum until I’m not so upset.”

“And I take deep breaths and count to ten,” May added. “Do you think you could try one of those the next time you feel like throwing something?”

Skye nodded again. “I know I’m supposed to do the counting thing. I just forget sometimes.”

“Everyone forgets from time to time. Sometimes we just need a little reminding.”

* * *

The rest of the evening was thankfully much less eventful. Dinner was quiet, with everyone sharing parts of their day. Skye was deliberately evasive when it was her turn, offering the same noncommittal answers she had given in the car earlier. No one pressed her too much, which she was grateful for. She couldn’t tell if it was because May and Phil were satisfied with her answers, or if they were just giving her space after her outburst from earlier, but either way she was happy to avoid interrogation.

Once the dishes were cleared, they had some time before getting ready for bed, which they used to watch TV. Phil found some goofy game show that they all enjoyed, where people tried to cook while dealing with increasingly difficult obstacles, like wearing handcuffs or cooking over a lightbulb instead of a stove. It was funny enough to keep them entertained, although May did tap away at a laptop while she sat with them. Skye wondered if May would ever let her use the laptop at some point, but felt like tonight wasn’t the best night to go asking for favors. It was a wonder she hadn’t been shipped back to the nuns as far as she was concerned, and she wasn’t interested in pressing her luck.

When the show ended, Phil and May ushered the girls upstairs to get ready for bed, and Skye was so worn out from the day that she didn’t mind that it was only nine o’clock. She and Jemma showered and brushed their teeth, and Phil stopped by Skye’s room half an hour later to say goodnight.

“Get some rest,” he said, leaning in the doorway. “I’m sure you’re tired after a full day at school, and another one’s coming down the pipe.” He laughed a little, and Skye offered a weak smile in return.

“I am sorry about today,” she mumbled. “I’ll be good from now on.”

“Hey,” Phil said sadly. He crossed towards her and perched on the foot of her bed. “Making mistakes or even making bad choices doesn’t mean you’re not good. From what I can tell, you’re more than a good kid, Skye. I hope you know that.” Skye shrugged. She didn’t exactly understand what Phil was trying to tell her, but at least he wasn’t mad about earlier. Phil gave her a smile, but his eyes still looked melancholy. “I want you to know how good you are, Skye. It’s important to me that you know that Melinda and I think you are very, very good, and that you can think that about yourself, too. Okay?”

Skye didn’t say anything for a minute, eventually settling for telling Phil goodnight.

“Goodnight, Skye. Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Phil left then, leaving Skye to ruminate on what he had said. She was pretty sure she was not good. Between all the fights and screwups and problems written in file and her penchant for getting into trouble whether she was looking for it or not, her track record certainly didn’t suggest she was a good kid. The nuns reminded her consistently of her many shortcomings, doling out punishments and taking away privileges left and right, and she had been witness to a parade of foster parents who thought she was difficult, a handful, surly, defiant, violent, and who had no problem with telling her as much. Once again Phil and May seemed to be proving themselves different than all the others, but Skye knew there would be a point where they would realize like everyone before them that she was more trouble than she was worth. Her one saving grace seemed to be that nothing could tarnish her in Jemma’s eyes. Jemma still liked her, no matter how many bad things she did. At least, she hoped so.

When Skye was sure the coast was clear, she snuck across the hall and into Jemma’s room, as was becoming routine. Still turning over ideas about goodness in her head, Skye found herself voicing her concerns out loud as she nestled into bed with Jemma.

“Jem? Do you think I’m bad?”

“Is this about the book?” Jemma asked. Her voice was so quiet, Skye wouldn’t have been able to hear it if her ear hadn’t been right near Jemma’s mouth.

“Yeah, I guess. The book, and everything else. Getting in trouble at school. Hurting that Ward kid in gym class. Talking back. All the stuff I do all the time, you know? Do you think that makes me bad?” Jemma was quiet for a long time, and Skye almost thought she had fallen asleep when she finally spoke.

“I think you’re brave, and kind to people who need kindness,” Jemma said. “You have a short temper, but a lot of people do. At least when you get angry you don’t hurt people.”

“Sometimes I do. Grant Ward, Michaela Dodson…”

“That’s self-defense,” Jemma said, cutting her off. “And that’s not what I meant. I meant you’re not like… like people who hurt people who can’t stick up for themselves.” She fell silent, and Skye knew she was talking about people like the kids who bullied them and all of their terrible foster parents.

“Even though no one has shown you how to be good Skye, somehow you’re still one of the noblest people I know.” Skye was glad it was so dark, because she was sure her face was bright red.

“Well now you’re just being ridiculous,” she muttered, elbowing Jemma softly. Jemma giggled, and snuggled in closer, wrapping her fingers around Skye’s and using her thumb to tap lightly on the back of Skye’s hand.

“I’m glad Phil and May didn’t get mad at you today,” Jemma said, after a minute. “I was worried for a bit.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Skye apologized. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was worried, too. You remember what I told you about Mr. Erickson? And the snow boot?”

“You had a lump on your head for a week,” Jemma fretted. “You don’t think May and Phil would ever throw a boot at you, do you?”

“I… I don’t know,” Skye admitted. “I don’t think so. They seem… different, I guess. But foster families have seemed different before.”

“The Walkers,” murmured Jemma, barely a whisper. Skye’s heart ached thinking about what the Walkers had done to her sweet Jemma. She squeezed her friend’s hand, and Jemma returned the squeeze, signaling that she was okay.

“I hope May and Phil stay nice,” Jemma said, her voice growing thick with impending sleep. “I think I like it here.”

“I think so, too,” Skye said, as they both gave in to exhaustion and fell fast asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All book quotes come from The Giver by Lois Lowry, a book I did not write and do not own, but did read in middle school :)


	12. Ups and Downs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for hospital, mentions of physical/verbal abuse, some swearing

The past few days had been a whirl for Bobbi. After she had told Detective Hartley about her dad, things felt like they had been moving at super speed. The detective had been back a few times, once with another police officer, and they asked her a bunch of questions about her dad and what life was like with him. She hadn’t wanted to say much, but Detective Hartley told her that it was important for her to tell the truth – the whole truth – so that the police could have a clear idea about what her dad was like. She felt bad the whole time, like she was snitching on him, and she couldn’t shake the suffocating fear that somehow, he would find out what she was doing. Still, she knew it was the right thing to do, and Detective Hartley had promised her that she would be safe, so she told them. She told them everything.

She told them about how her mother had run off when she eight years old, and how ever since then her dad had been bitter and short-tempered. She told them about how she cooked all the meals, and cleaned the house, and did the laundry, and everything else a parent was supposed to be in charge of. She told them about her strict curfew, and about how she wasn’t allowed to bring friends home, and about all the other impossible rules she was supposed to follow. Then it got to the hard part. She had to tell them about how angry her dad got, all the time, over every little thing, from the TV being on the wrong channel when he turned it on to his dinner not being served on time to the creases in his work pants not being perfectly straight. She had to tell them about how he yelled, the horrible things he called her, how he would say that she was just like her useless, no good mother.

She had to tell them about how, when the yelling wasn’t enough, he would start to use his fists to get his point across, or his belt, or whatever happened to be in his hands at the time. The TV remote, chucked at her head, a dinner plate smashed against a cabinet, the iron swung at her shoulder. She showed them the chunky white scar from where the searing metal had burned her, and the police officer got a bad look on his face. His eyes went wide, and his mouth went tight, like he felt sick. Maybe that was a sad face, or an afraid face. She couldn’t quite tell. Detective Hartley kept her normal face, so Bobbi focused on her as she told them the rest.

She told them about how she lied to her friends and teachers about how things were at home, how she made excuses for why her dad never came to parent-teacher conferences or soccer games, how she wore long sleeves and used makeup to hide most of her bruises and blamed soccer for the ones she couldn’t conceal. She told them the truth about what had happened the day she was brought to the hospital, and she told them about how, until that day with the bat, she had never fought back. Because she knew how dangerous it would be. Because she knew, deep down, that she probably deserved everything that he said and did.

Detective Hartley had thanked her for being honest, and told her that the police were going to make sure that her dad never hurt her again. Bobbi wasn’t sure she believed that was true, but she did believe that Detective Hartley was going to try.

* * *

The second time Detective Hartley came back, a day later, she had a woman with her who had square glasses and long dark hair with red streaks in it.

“Hi Bobbi, I’m Victoria Hand. I work for Social Services and I’m a friend of Detective Hartley’s here. She told me a little bit about what’s happened to you, and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

Bobbi didn’t want to answer any more questions about her dad, but she knew that the only thing that would probably stop the endless parade of people coming into her hospital room was going to be giving them what they wanted.

“Who lives at your home with you?”

“Just me and my dad.”

“No pets or siblings?”

“No.”

“What about school? Do you like school?” the woman, Miss Hand, asked.

“Yeah, school is good. I have friends there. I play soccer, I’m in some clubs. I have almost all As.”

“That’s fantastic,” Miss Hand smiled. Bobbi wanted to smile back, but she still felt uneasy. She didn’t understand why she was being asked these questions. They felt dumb.

“What are some of your favorite things to eat?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bobbi snapped. She apologized quickly, looking down at her lap. She hadn’t meant to use such a harsh tone.

“It’s all right, Bobbi. That’s a fair question. Really I’m just trying to get to know you a little bit, get an idea about what your life looks like from day to day.”

“Well I don’t really have a favorite food. Usually I just make easy things, like pasta or eggs or stuff in a crockpot. I tried to make a meatloaf one time, but my dad didn’t like it, so I got in trouble.”

“Do you get in trouble a lot at home?” Trouble. Trouble. She was going to be in so much trouble. She felt like a little kid getting caught doing something wrong. Bobbi felt her ears grow warm with embarrassment.

“I guess.”

“What happens when you get in trouble, usually?”

“I already told the police,” Bobbi said, looking over to Detective Hartley. “They already know what I said, didn’t they tell you before you got here?”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just a part of my job to ask, and to hear it from you directly.” The corners of Miss Hand’s mouth were pulled down. She seemed like she did feel sorry for having to ask. Taking as deep a breath as she could without hurting her chest, Bobbi recounted some of the things her father had done over the years.

“For how long has your father been violent with you, Bobbi?” Miss Hand asked.

“Usually just a few minutes at a time,” Bobbi said flatly. She was starting to feel tired. It was getting easier to breathe and talk, but it still wore her out to work too hard at either. Miss Hand shook her head.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I wanted to know for many years has he been hurting you, off and on. How old were you the first time he hurt you?”

“Oh.” Bobbi furrowed her brow, trying to remember. “I don’t know. Probably right after my mom left. He was really mad when she went away and didn’t take me with her.” Miss Hand didn’t say anything, but made a note in a folder she was holding.

“And how many times a week does this happen?”

Bobbi shrugged slightly, using the shoulder on the side of her body that had fewer sore ribs. “I don’t know, sometimes three or four, sometimes every day. It usually just depends on how mad he is and how much he drinks that day.” Miss Hand made another note. Bobbi tried to stay focused on the serious-seeming woman, but her eyes were getting heavy, and her breathing was becoming shallow and painful. Fortunately, both women seemed to notice, and Miss Hand closed her folder.

“Thank you, Bobbi. I appreciate you talking with me. We’ve opened an investigation into your father, and I’m in the process of trying to find you a place to stay once you’re released from the hospital. I’ll be back in a day or two to update you. I hope you know that my top priority right now is your health and safety.” Bobbi leaned back onto her bed, nodding slightly. She didn’t like the social worker very much, but she believed that she was trying her best.

“See ya, kid,” Detective Hartley waved. “I heard you’re getting surgery on that knee tomorrow. Good luck.” Bobbi arranged her face into a smile and returned the wave as both women left the room. She was nervous about the surgery, but Alice the nurse had told her that it would help fix her knee and that it was a pretty easy surgery because the fracture was “clean,” whatever that meant. As she thought about her impending procedure, her hands twitched at her sides. She had been without her batons for almost a week, and she desperately wanted something to twirl. It was bad enough that she was stuck in a bed and couldn’t pace or walk or run, but not being able to spin the heavy wooden rods that she had made for herself in shop class two years ago was driving her crazy. Moving around helped her to think, to stay calm. It was one of the reasons she still played soccer, even though it made her schedule hectic and her dad grouchy. She loved the feeling of tearing down the field, chasing after a loose ball, the wind on her face and her legs pumping hard. She squeezed her eyes shut, warding off the tears that were threatening to come at the prospect of never being able to run again. She hoped that whatever the doctors did tomorrow in the operating room would be enough to get her back on her feet before long.

* * *

When she awoke post-surgery the next afternoon, she felt as groggy and confused as she had when she first arrived in the hospital. Her whole right leg was numb, and she was thirsty. There was a roaring in her ears, and her mouth had that same, cottony feeling. At least her tongue didn’t feel too big, and she was breathing without a tube up her nose. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her thoughts. Something felt different, felt wrong. There was a kind of electricity in the air, some kind of unnamed tension. That’s when she heard it. His voice. He was here, and he was angry.

“What do mean, I can’t go back there? I’m her father! You told me last week I could bring her home today, and now I can’t even see her? She’s my kid, goddammit!” The blood in her veins turned to ice, and her chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice grip. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Everything was fuzzy. He was here. Why was he here?

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I have strict instructions not to let anyone back to see that patient aside from a very short, approved list.”

“This is ridiculous. You people are running a sham, you know that? First the goddamn cops show up at my house asking all kinds of bullshit questions, and now I can’t get my kid?”

“The patient isn’t even scheduled for release today, sir. She just had surgery this morning.”

“Surgery? What for? I didn’t approve any surgery, and I’m sure as hell not paying for any!” She was crying, her hands clawing at the tubes and wires she was still hooked up to. She had to get away from him. They had lied, they had all lied. He was here and he was going to kill her for telling.

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Like hell you are. Get out of my way!” The sickening sound of knuckles against face rang out, and a cry of pain bounced off of the sterile walls and floor. She felt nauseous, or like she was going to pass out. Giving up on trying to detach herself from the machines, she moved instead to swing her legs off the bed and stand. Pain exploded in her ribs, but she forced herself to sit up and put her feet on the floor. She still couldn’t feel her right leg, but she hoped it was in place along with her left one. With tremendous effort, she heaved herself off of the bed. For a split second, she was standing, and she had visions of springing away from the hospital and her father and never looking back. Then she was on the floor, her daydream crashing down with the rest of her body. She cried out in pain as she hit the ground, her sore muscles and bones protesting the harsh effects of gravity. Her face was pressed into the cold tile, and all she could do was lie there. Lie there and cry, because she knew what was coming.

She was still crying when the first set of feet appeared in the doorway. She tried to move away, but barely made it an inch before strong hands eased her up and back into bed. In her mind’s eye she could see his bloated, red face, his eyes practically rolling and the spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. It took several panicked minutes before she realized it was Monica the nurse, not her father, who had come in and picked her up, but even that wasn’t enough to calm her down. She couldn’t breathe, and her hands were fluttering away, trying to swat all of the bad feelings out of the air.

“Shh, honey, it’s okay. You need to stay in bed. You just got out of surgery, and everything is fine. He can’t come back here, security took him away. It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” Bobbi couldn’t see past her own terror, but suddenly the familiar feeling of something entering her veins washed over her, and she was plunged back into sleep.


	13. Saturday Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for meltdown, mentions of abuse

Over the next several days, Skye did her best to remain on her best behavior. They were starting to develop a routine now: breakfast, school, lunch with Fitz, waiting in the library for Phil to pick them up, homework, dinner, and bed. It wasn’t the most exciting life, but Skye didn’t mind. She had had plenty of excitement in other foster homes, and she was content to settle into a rhythm, even if it was a little dull. Jemma seemed to be doing well with the consistency, which didn’t surprise Skye. She and Fitz continued to be fast friends, and even though Jemma still wasn’t speaking to anyone in school, she was starting to get positive feedback from teachers on her written assignments, which Skye knew was making her really happy.

Miss Hill seemed not to have remembered the trouble from Flex time the first day, much to Skye’s relief, and _The Giver_ started making a little more sense once Skye figured out that the whole thing was supposed to take place in some weird version of the future where everything was different from how it was in real life. Not surprisingly, Ms. Amador’s computer science class quickly became the best part of her day, besides the time she got to spend alone with Jemma at home, of course, and even gym class wasn’t so bad. Grant Ward still glared daggers at her most days, but he had been keeping his distance ever since Skye stomped on him that first day.

Despite how well things seemed to be shaping up in school, Skye was still glad when Saturday finally rolled around. She was ready to have a day off from school, not to mention she was curious what Phil and May were going to be like on the weekends. It always varied from place to place, in her experience. Some foster homes preferred for you to stay out of the way on the weekend, out of sight, out of mind, while others wanted you to use the weekend to take care of all the chores you couldn’t get to during the week, like window washing and laundry and scrubbing the floors and bathrooms. The worst houses were extra bad on the weekends, since it meant more time for angry foster parents to get mad and yell and smack you around, but Skye knew that wouldn’t be the case with Phil and May. She hadn’t let her guard down completely, and she knew that things changed in a heartbeat sometimes, but so far everything about Phil and May had signaled to her that she didn’t have to be worried about getting hit just because it was the weekend.

As had become her habit, she woke up early in Jemma’s bed and slipped back into her own room for a few more hours’ sleep before getting up for real. On school days, Phil had been waking her up, and he was always nice about it, but Skye was happy to be able to get up on her own time. At St. Agnes, the nuns never let anybody sleep past seven, even on Saturdays, so when Skye padded into the kitchen and saw that the clock read a little after nine, she was quite pleased.

May was sitting at the table with her usual mug of tea, but Phil was nowhere to be found, which struck Skye as odd.

“Where’s Phil?” she asked, once she and May had exchanged greetings. May smiled and chuckled into her mug.

“He’s back in the den with Jemma. He wanted to introduce the two of you to his Saturday morning tradition. Fix yourself some cereal and you can go back there with them.” Intrigued, Skye obliged, filling a bowl and wandering towards the back of the house.

The sight that greeted her when she entered the den split her face into a massive grin. Phil, still in pajama pants and a Captain America t-shirt, was sitting on the couch, balancing his own bowl of cereal and completely absorbed in bright cartoons on the TV. Jemma sat beside him, perched on the edge of the couch and trying to eat as carefully as she could. Neither one noticed Skye as she came in.

“So in the last season, the Avengers were trying to keep a robot from taking over the world,” Phil was explaining to a bemused-looking Jemma. “And now, because of what happened with the robot, the government wants to keep track of them and tell them what to do, which is why they’re arguing.”

Skye bit back a laugh and flopped onto the couch next to Jemma. Phil looked up and beamed when he saw her.

“Skye! You’re just in time for Saturday morning cartoons. I was trying to catch Jemma up on the plot, since this episode happens in the middle of a pretty big storyline. How do you like the Avengers?”

Skye raised and lowered a shoulder in a good-natured shrug. “Good, I guess. I don’t know very much about them. That’s like Captain American and the Hulk, right?”

Phil nodded excitedly, like a little kid. “Oh yeah, plus a bunch of others, too. Obviously, Cap is the best one, but they have a big team, so there are plenty of heroes to root for.” Skye giggled and settled in, munching away at her cereal and watching the cartoon intently.

“Which one is that?” she asked, waving her spoon at a brawny man with long blonde hair and a cape. “He’s handsome.”

“Oh, well, he’s not… That’s Thor. I guess he’s _sort of_ good-looking,” Phil told her, obviously a little flustered.

“He’s definitely handsome,” came May’s teasing voice from the doorway behind them. Looking back, Skye could see a playful smirk on the woman’s face. “Dreamy, even.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Phil retorted. “Thor is nowhere near as dreamy as Captain America.” They all laughed then, and May joined them on the couch for the last twenty minutes of the show. She conceded that Captain America was also dreamy, which got Phil to stop pretending to pout. The whole exchange struck Skye as warm and immensely funny. It felt so good to be snuggled on a couch with Jemma, and with May and Phil, who clearly loved each other and actually wanted to spend time with the kids in their care.

When the show was over, May gathered up everyone’s bowls and took them back to the kitchen, while Phil, Skye, and Jemma went upstairs to get dressed and ready for the day.

“Be back down in fifteen minutes,” May called after them. “We’re doing some shopping today, and I want to beat the crowds.”

“What kind of shopping?” Skye wanted to know, lingering at the bottom of the stairs.

“Stocking up on things we need,” May said. “Some things for your room and Jemma’s to make them feel a little more like home. Some new clothes for both of you. Odds and ends, maybe some groceries, if we have time.” She said it so casually, but Skye was taken aback that they were all going out to buy things just for her and Jemma, especially because they didn’t really need anything.

“We have clothes,” Skye pointed out. “And our rooms are already really nice. You don’t have to do that.”

“Phil and I want to, Skye.” May’s expression was difficult to read. Her face seemed kind, but her eyes looked hurt. Skye worried that she had upset her.

“I just meant… that’s a lot of money, and it’s not like we need new things,” said Skye lamely. She toed at the ground, unsure of how to fix the situation.

“You don’t think you could use some new things to wear? We’ve noticed how some of your things are pretty worn-out, and I know I’ve seen you wear the same shirt a couple times now. Wouldn’t you like to have some more choices?” Skye felt her face go red. She knew she didn’t have a lot of clothes, and that most of her things were old and verging on ratty, but she had hoped that other people wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t like the nuns were handing out new things every few weeks; most of the clothes the kids at St. Agnes wore came from donation boxes or were school uniforms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” May said quickly, and Skye was shocked to see genuine remorse on her face. Grown-ups never apologized for hurting your feelings. “I just meant that, since it’s our job to take care of you and Jemma now, one of the ways that we can do that is making sure you have enough clothes to wear. Clothes that are clean and new, preferably. I’m sure there weren’t a lot of opportunities for new things with all the children that live at St. Agnes.”

Skye pondered what May was saying. It made sense, even if she had never thought of it that way.

“Okay,” she told May, shrugging slightly. “Just to warn you, though, Jemma doesn’t really like clothes shopping. She… has a hard time with new things.” Before May could press for more information, Skye disappeared into her room to change. She felt bad for talking about Jemma behind her back, but she felt like May should be at least a little prepared for what was coming. Hopefully Jemma would be able to keep it together and just pick out a shirt or two, but something in the pit of Skye’s stomach told her that might not be a realistic expectation for the day.

* * *

The drive to the mall was shorter than Skye was expecting, and although Jemma had that flighty, nervous look in her eyes and was tapping away on the seat next to her, she didn’t count street blocks or telephone poles as far as Skye could tell, which was a good sign. May’s urging to get them out the door sooner rather than later seemed to have paid off, because the parking lot was only about half full when Phil eased the car into a spot only a few rows from the entrance.

“Where should we go first?” Phil asked as they entered the slick and well-lit building. It smelled like linoleum and French fries to Skye, and there was cheesy music playing softly over the intercom system. “Bedroom stuff or clothes?” Jemma didn’t answer, and her eyes were fixed on the ground, so Skye took the cue and made a decision for the both of them.

“Bedroom stuff?” she suggested. She was hoping to delay clothes stress for as long as possible. Phil nodded, and started off towards a store that had all kinds of furniture and décor. May brought up the rear, making sure that Skye and Jemma were both safely between her and Phil, which Skye thought was a little silly for kids as old as she and Jemma were, but secretly appreciated, nonetheless.

The store Phil led them to was cavernous, and Skye almost forgot that it was a building within a building, it felt so big. They decided they could skip most of the furniture, since both bedrooms were already furnished well, but May and Phil didn’t indicate that they planned to let the girls skip many other sections. They stopped and looked at lamps, at bedsheets, at posters, and curtains. Skye made a point of looking at things seriously, to try and appease May and Phil, but there wasn’t much that she considered actually putting in their cart to buy. Their rooms already had rugs and curtains, and the sheets on their beds were some of the softest she had ever slept in.

“You know, the point of going shopping is to actually buy things,” Phil teased as they passed by yet another section of the store. “There has to be something that you’d like in your rooms.”

Eventually, Skye found a goose-necked lamp that she could point in whatever direction she needed it that came attached to a base with cubbies and sections to store all kinds of things in, like pens and paper clips. She didn’t anticipate putting very many office supplies in the partitions, but thought that some of her screws and microchips would fit beautifully. Jemma stayed silent, but Phil caught her eyes lingering on a an oddly-shaped lamp that apparently cast the stars of the night sky onto the ceiling and asked if she liked it. When Jemma nodded, he plucked it off the shelf with a grin.

“Now we’re in business!” he said happily. It was almost baffling, how happy it seemed to make him and May any time Skye or Jemma found something they liked. Skye had never seen anything like it.

At the end of nearly twenty more minutes, they left the store laden with lamps, clocks, and a few other things, like a poster of the periodic table for Jemma and a funny little hula dancer on a spring for Skye’s desk. She liked the way the figurine bounced back and forth when she nudged it with her finger.

As they made their way towards a department store at the other end of the mall, Phil stopped briefly, looking thoughtful.

“I think it might be easier if I run these things out to the car now,” he said, gesturing to the bags they had already accrued. “You three go on ahead and I’ll meet you in the store in a bit.” May agreed and passed the bags she was holding over to Phil, before setting back off in the direction of their next destination. As they neared the store, Skye felt the knot in her stomach tighten with worry. She was sure that next to her, Jemma was feeling even more anxious than she was. She could just barely hear Jemma counting floor tiles under her breath, and knew that they were in for an interesting time.

The store was pretty much the same as the first one, just with clothes filling the racks instead of home goods. The light was still stark and harsh, and the same music could be heard floating through the perfume-laced air. Apparently someone had gone a little trigger-happy at the makeup counter.

“We can start here,” May said, leading them to a section that seemed to have clothes for girls their age, “but we can look in other sections, too, if you don’t find things you like.” Skye cocked her head to one side at that, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I know for me, sometimes, I like the t-shirts better in the men’s sections,” explained May. “Especially if I’m looking for something more plain. So I just want you to know that we don’t have to stay in this _Junior Ladies’_ or whatever it’s called. We have options. The important thing is to find some things that you like and that are comfortable.” Skye thought it was funny the way May had scrunched up her nose at the name of the section they were in. She agreed that it was a pretty terrible name for a section that was supposed to appeal to middle school girls.

They wandered through the racks for a few minutes, and Skye kept a close eye on Jemma. Her face looked tight, and her right hand was jammed in her jeans’ pocket, so Skye figured she was tapping out of sight.

“We could start with some jeans,” May suggested. “It’s good to have a couple pairs, especially ones without any holes or tears. That way you can wear them anytime.” Skye ran her fingers over some of the different denims hanging in front of them.

“Here, Jems, feel these ones,” she said, pulling an especially soft pair away from the others. She was hoping that she could ease Jemma into the idea without making too much of a fuss. Jemma shook her head tersely and refused to touch the pants. Skye caught a glimpse of May’s slight frown, and the gnawing of worry deepened in her stomach. Eager to distract May, Skye pulled a few pairs out without much thought.

“We’ll try these on,” she decided. She knew she and Jemma were pretty close in size, and she hoped that maybe she could find something that would work for both of them. She herded Jemma into the dressing room, and May followed behind.

“I’ll wait right outside the door,” she told them. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Once they were safely shut away in the dressing room, Skye turned to face Jemma.

“Jemma, I know this is hard, but I think we just have to get through it,” she said. The crumpled look on Jemma’s face made her heart ache, but she didn’t see any way around it. “I don’t think May and Phil are going to let us come out of here without something new to wear. Come on, just try.” Skye undid her own jeans and wiggled into one of the new pairs. Unfortunately, they were several inches too long, and the waist was so big that Skye had to grip it tightly to keep the pants from sliding off her waist.

“Okay, so that’s a no,” Skye said, trying to inject some lightness into the situation. The second pair was also a bad fit, but the third one seemed okay. The length and waist were all right, and they weren’t so tight that she couldn’t move around freely. “Here, look, this one might do the trick.” She slid the pants off and held them out for Jemma to take, but the younger girl just stood like a statue.

“Jemma, please,” Skye pleaded. “They feel good, I promise.”

Jemma finally wrenched her jaw open, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “I… I don’t want… new ones.” Skye put her own jeans back on, then took Jemma’s free hand in her own and tried to squeeze and breathe. The usual trick didn’t seem to help much.

“I know,” she whispered. Before she could think of something else to say, May’s voice drifted through the door.

“Everything okay in there?”

Skye panicked. She didn’t know how to explain things to May, and she knew Jemma wasn’t going to. Her mouth hung open as she tried to come up with a response, but nothing came to her. The seconds ticked by in silence, and Skye could tell that May knew something was up.

“Would it be okay if I came in for a second?” May asked, her voice much softer than before. Skye looked at Jemma to see how she felt about May coming in, but Jemma’s face had become a mask. That wasn’t good. Unsure of what else to do, Skye reached over and unlatched the door, and May entered a moment later.

It only took May a split second to take in the scene and spring into action. Crossing over to where the two girls stood, May planted herself in front of Jemma, close enough to talk quietly but not so close that Jemma felt trapped.

“Jemma? Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?” Jemma shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Skye told me that new things are hard for you sometimes, is that true?” May continued. It took Jemma longer to respond this time, but eventually she nodded her head slightly. She sniffled, and a few tears started to drip down her cheeks.

“Why do you think that is?”

Again, Jemma didn’t respond. She dropped Skye’s hand, which Skye would have been hurt by if she hadn’t known that Jemma needed both of her hands free in that moment. Both hands were shaking back and forth at her sides, a desperate kind of flappy motion that Skye had only seen Jemma use a few times, usually when she was really upset and tapping wasn’t enough. Shifting her weight from side to side, Jemma tried to get control over her crying, but it seemed like she wasn’t having much luck. Frustrated, she brought her hands up to her face and pressed against the sides of her cheeks and neck and took labored breaths in through her nose.

To her credit, May didn’t act like this was anything strange or freaky, the way Skye had seen some other grownups behave. The nuns and the teachers at school always got uncomfortable when Jemma went into meltdown mode, usually chastising her to stop or “pull herself together,” which was wholly unhelpful. She had never been with the same foster parents as Jemma before, but she had heard about the less than positive ways that they had reacted as well.

“Jemma, hey, it’s okay,” May started to say. She reached out a hand to steady Jemma, and in a flash, Skye knew that was a mistake. Absolute terror filled Jemma’s eyes, and she let out a strangled, frightened sound, scrambling away from May as fast as she could. Before Skye could even register what was happening, Jemma was sitting on the floor, knees drawn into her chest and her whole body shoved as far into the corner as she could go. Rocking from side to side, Jemma bumped her head against the dressing room wall, not dangerously hard, but hard enough to make a dull thump, over and over again. With each thump, she choked out an apology through fresh tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, Jemma, I’m sorry,” May replied, kneeling down near Jemma, but out of arm’s reach. “That was my mistake, I shouldn’t have tried to touch you. It won’t happen again.”

Jemma’s mantra changed then, and she began repeating the word “bad” in a pitiful voice.

“Bad? What’s bad, Jemma?” May asked. When Jemma didn’t respond, May looked to Skye for help.

“She thinks _she’s_ been bad,” Skye said quietly. “One of her other homes would make her sit in the corner and punish herself if she acted out. If she didn’t do it right, they would do it for her.” She felt bad for telling one of Jemma’s secrets, but Skye didn’t know how else to help her. She felt like May needed to know if she was going to do anything.

“Oh, Jemma, love, you are not bad,” May told her in tender tones. “You don’t need to punish yourself. I would really like it if you would stop trying to do that. You can cry or move around any way you need to, but please don’t think that I want you to hurt yourself.” May’s calm tone seemed to be helping, because Jemma’s breathing steadied slightly, and she fell silent. She continued to rock, but her head stayed clear of the wall. Skye let out a shaky breath of relief and got down on the floor and scooted close to Jemma.

“Hug?” Skye asked. Jemma nodded, and Skye wrapped her arms around her, trying to apply the pressure evenly. Jemma melted into her, her limbs going limp, and Skye cradled her as best she could. Usually things didn’t get this bad when they were together, but Skye had been there for enough meltdowns to know that Jemma wanting to be held meant they were near the end.

After a few more minutes, Jemma had stopped crying completely, and she was sitting up a little straighter. Her right hand was tapping again, but in a much more soothing manner. Sensing that they had turned a corner, May spoke.

“Jemma, I’m so sorry I pushed you about the clothes. I didn’t realize how upsetting it was going to be. If you don’t want to try anything on, that’s okay. Phil and I just want to make sure you have enough things to wear.” Jemma nodded to show she understood. Slowly, all three began to get to their feet.

“I don’t like different,” Jemma murmured. Her voice was fragile, but Skye was proud of her for speaking up.

“That’s understandable. Different can be hard,” May agreed. “But different doesn’t always have to be bad.”

“It doesn’t have to be good, either,” Jemma said.

“That’s true,” said May. “Most of the time, different is neutral. Different is just different, and it takes some getting used to, no matter what it is.” Jemma paused for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. May looked around the dressing room and ran a hand through her hair.

“I don’t know about the two of you, but I think I’d like to get out of this room, how does that sound?”

“Good to me,” Skye piped up, slipping her hand into Jemma’s. She grabbed the pair of jeans that had fit her off of the floor. “These ones fit me okay.”

“Great,” May said, smiling. “Would you like to get them?” Skye nodded as they made their way out of the dressing room. May replaced the jeans that hadn’t fit back on the rack, and then pulled out another pair of the ones Skye was holding. “Let’s get another pair, just so you have a couple to rotate between.”

“Okay,” Skye agreed, taking the second pair.

May turned to look at Jemma. “Would you like to go home now, or should we keep looking here? I’m sure Phil is wandering around trying to find us.”

“We can stay,” Jemma finally said after careful deliberation. She looked tired, but the frantic look in her eye had gone, and she gave Skye’s hand a squeeze.

“Okay, great,” said May. “Let’s find Phil and see if there’s anything else we should get while we’re here.”

* * *

It didn’t take long to stumble across Phil, who was rifling through a collection of t-shirts with various superheroes and sci-fi characters on them. His face broke into a smile when he saw them, but Skye noticed how his eyes latched onto the tear tracks on Jemma’s face and then flicked up to May with an unspoken question. May just shook her head slightly, and just like that Phil let the matter go, which Skye thought was very kind of him. They spent a little while longer in the store, and Skye found a couple of t-shirts and some plaid button-ups that suited her. She even found an awesome green army-looking jacket with a bunch of pockets in the teenage boys’ section that Phil called “retro” and May said was “very cool.” As they perused a few more racks, an idea struck Skye.

“Hey Jemma,” she said, thinking carefully. “You and I are pretty close to the same size. What if we found some things that you liked the look of in a size that might fit, and then you got to take them home and try them on there. That way you could have more time to get used to them, and if they weren’t good after a few days, then maybe we could take them back and get a refund?” She directed the last part to Phil and May, making sure that they were on-board with the plan before it got too far. May nodded encouragingly, and Phil seemed intrigued by the idea.

“That sounds pretty smart to me,” he said. It was clear he didn’t exactly know what was going on, but he still spoke with reassurance. Jemma looked thoughtful. After a minute or two, she agreed.

“Okay, we can try.”

“Cool,” Skye grinned, giving Jemma’s hand a quick squeeze. “Let’s find some stuff that looks like you.” It didn’t take long for Skye to spot some things that she thought might suit Jemma, and they spent the next few minutes sifting through collared shirts, sweaters, and even some blazers. Skye knew that Jemma liked the feeling of having her arms covered, so layers were always a plus. Jemma was deliberate in examining the different tops, and she made sure to run her fingers over each one to make sure the fabric felt okay. Using Skye’s sizes as a baseline, they eventually settled on a few things that looked promising, plus another pair of the same jeans Skye was getting. Jemma even picked out a necktie to go with one of the shirts, and even though Skye didn’t say anything, she had a sneaking suspicion that Jemma was fond of the outfits that Phil wore to work every day and was looking to emulate them.

They swung by a section where they picked up some basic packs of socks and underwear, and Skye was thankful they didn’t linger too long in that department. She liked May and Phil well enough, but still, shopping for underwear was embarrassing no matter how much you liked your shopping companions. She was also grateful when May breezed past the more intimate section of the underwear department with the casual remark that that was “for another trip.” She had a couple of camisoles that did the trick for now, and she was not interested in trying to buy a bra with her foster parents.

Their last stop was at some racks filled with pajama sets, and Skye looked over at May and Phil inquisitively.

“You know we have pajamas, right?”

“Well, you have big t-shirts, from St. Agnes,” Phil said. “We thought maybe it might be a little more comfortable to have some real pajamas, especially as it starts to get colder. Plus, you get to pick out fun ones.” He wasn’t wrong. There were all sorts of patterns and designs, everything from various cute animals to cartoon characters. Skye thumbed through the hangers, carefully considering her options. After deliberating, she settled on a pair that was patterned with cartoon sloths wearing sleep masks, and Jemma picked out ones populated with various butterflies.

“Did you know that there are over 17,000 different species of butterfly in the world?” she asked, a spark returning to her eyes.

“I did not,” Skye said, a bemused smile spreading across her face. “What about sloths? How many species of sloth are there?”

“Six,” Jemma told her without missing a beat. “Divided into two types based on the number of toes they have.”

“Silly me for thinking that would stump you,” laughed Skye.

“Judging by the drawings, I would say those are brown-throated three-toed sloths,” Jemma informed her, and Skye felt her heart soar at the return of her usual, happy, fact-filled Jemma.

* * *

The checkout line was short, and soon they were back in the car and headed for home. After a brief deliberation, they had all decided that they had done more than enough shopping for one day. Even though Jemma seemed to have recovered from the dressing room, Skye figured she was probably still feeling tired and stressed, and she had to admit that she was feeling a little stressed out, too.

She was trying not to dwell on what had happened in the store, but she couldn’t get her mind off of it. She kept thinking about how calm May had been through the whole thing, and how she had mostly known the right things to do. She was certainly impressed, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of worry that was becoming a regular resident in her stomach. May had seemed okay during the meltdown, but what if she was just hiding how bothered she was by it? What if she decided that Jemma was too much to handle, or that she was too much of a weirdo to be worth it? Plenty of foster families had felt that way after an episode, Skye knew. The number of times Jemma had been sent back stood as a testament to that fact, sadly. Skye began wishing with every fiber of her being that May and Phil would still want to keep Jemma, and she resolved then and there that, if May and Phil did decide to send her away, then she would do everything in her power to get kicked out and sent back to St. Agnes, too. A foster family wasn’t worth it if she didn’t have Jemma by her side.


	14. A Big Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of violence/physical abuse

Once they were home, May and Phil helped them carry all of their new things upstairs to their rooms. Skye felt a little guilty as Phil got excited over helping her find the right spots for her lamp and hula girl, since she didn’t actually use the room, but squashed the feeling down as best she could.

Downstairs, May began pulling out things to make sandwiches for lunch, and Skye realized just how hungry she felt. Eating three meals a day was definitely one of the best things about living with Phil and May, and she was getting accustomed to eating regularly. She hoped that it wouldn’t be too hard to adjust back to less food once she didn’t live with them anymore, but she didn’t dwell too long on the thought. It was better to focus on the good things she had right in front of her, which at the moment included a turkey sandwich and a cluster of fat, green grapes that popped with a satisfying crunch when she bit down on the skin. While Skye wolfed down her plate, Jemma picked at hers, nibbling on half of her sandwich and pushing the grapes around the plate without much interest.

“Aren’t you hungry, Jemma?” Phil asked. He was polishing off his own lunch and seemed concerned that Jemma had barely touched hers. Jemma just shrugged without a word, and Skye saw May and Phil exchange a look. It was the kind of look she saw grownups give each other all the time, the kind that they thought kids didn’t notice and the kind that meant they had to talk about whatever the kid in front of them had done wrong.

“Okay, well, you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” Phil assured her. “And if you get hungry later, you can always have a snack.” As he and May began clearing the table, they were interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. May fished in her pocket and glanced at the screen. When she saw who was calling, her brows scrunched together in confusion.

“It’s Vic,” she told Phil.

“I wonder what she’s calling about?” Phil mused. May just shook her head, then stepped towards the doorway as she answered the call.

“Hello? Hey, Vic, what’s up?” She listened for a few minutes, the look of confusion deepening on her face, then gestured to Phil to follow her. “Yeah, okay. Hey, Vic? Let me get Phil in on speakerphone, okay? Give me a second.” She left the room quickly then, and Phil wandered after her, mouthing at Skye and Jemma not to worry as he left. His demeanor was calm, but right away Skye’s brain kicked into high gear rifling through every possible catastrophic outcome she could imagine. Judging by the shallow breaths Jemma was sucking in beside her, a similar sensation was happening in her mind as well.

“Why would Miss Hand be calling?” Jemma asked, her voice trembling. “Is it because we did something wrong? Do you think we’re going to be taken away?” Skye tried to reassure her, but her voice stuck in her throat. After a minute, she was able to force words to leave her mouth, although they probably weren’t words Jemma was hoping to hear.

“I don’t know. I have no idea.” For a brief moment, Skye felt utterly helpless, but then a flash of impulsivity took over, and a plan lodged itself in her brain. “We have to go listen.”

“What? Skye, no, we can’t, May left the room so they could have a private conversation.”

“If Miss Hand is calling, then it’s probably about us. Wouldn’t you rather know now if we’re getting kicked to the curb again, instead waiting around in agony for a few hours until she shows up to take us away?” Skye gave Jemma a pointed look, and when Jemma faltered, Skye took her by the hand and pulled her down the hall towards the office, where Phil and May had shuttered themselves away with the phone. “Come on, I have to know.”

They knelt down in front of the closed door, and Skye pressed her ear against the small gap between the door and the frame, straining to hear. The voices were muffled, but she was able to distinguish between May’s and Phil’s without much trouble. Miss Hand’s was harder to hear, but she was pretty sure she could get the gist.

“I know the timing isn’t great, but I’m really in a bind, and given what Izzy’s told me about this girl, you two were the first ones I though of,” came the tinny voice of Miss Hand through the phone speaker.

“You thought of us, for this emergency situation, even though we’ve been parents for less than a week?” May was incredulous.

“We’re still figuring things out with Skye and Jemma,” Phil said. “Still getting to know them, still learning where the boundaries are, what the routines should be…”

“I know, and I wouldn’t normally do this, but the situation is… complicated. She’s being released from the hospital tomorrow, and I haven’t found any other emergency home that can take her. She’s in no condition for a group home at this point. It won’t be for long, just until I can find her a long-term placement. I know Skye and Jemma are used to being around other kids, and I know you two are the kind of people this girl needs right now.”

“Which is what, exactly?” May asked. There was some uncertainty in her voice. For someone who usually seemed so confident, she sounded like she had a lot of doubt.

“People who are kind, and gentle. Loving and attentive. All the things she wasn’t getting at home.”

“You said this girl really needs our help?” Phil sounded sad, but also like maybe Miss Hand was starting to convince him. It didn’t surprise Skye in the least that he was so easily persuaded to help someone out.

“She really does. I met her yesterday, after Izzy got me involved. She seems like a good kid, but she’s been through a lot recently. She needs an anchor.”

“We don’t exactly have the space,” said May. “We only have the two extra beds, both of which are being slept in at the moment…”

“We can work something out,” Phil coaxed. “We have the pull-out couch in a pinch, and we can get another bed without too much hassle.” There was a long pause before May spoke.

“Your heart’s already set on this, isn’t it, love?” There was no frustration or malice to be found in her tone. Skye could practically picture May smiling and shaking her head at Phil in that “you’re so dopey and I love you so much” way that she had with him.

“You know I can’t turn away a kid in need, Mel. I know you can’t either.”

“Okay,” May sighed. “Okay, Vic. We’ll do whatever we can. You said she’s getting out of the hospital tomorrow?”

“Yes, around 10 in the morning, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll be pulling a file together this evening, and I’ll bring it with me when I drop her off. She’s never been in the system before, so there won’t be much, more than likely.”

“What can you tell us about her?” Phil asked. “Just so we can get an idea of who to expect. And so we know what to tell Skye and Jemma.”

“Of course. Her name is Barbara Morse, but she goes by Bobbi. She’s fifteen, does well in school, plays sports, all that jazz. Up until recently she lived with her father – apparently Mom wasn’t in the picture. A little over a week ago, Dad drops her off at the ER up here in Two Rivers, says she was in a car crash, then leaves without another word. Kid’s really hurt, broken ribs, punctured lung, busted knee, all this horrible stuff. The doctors fix her up, but they start to notice some things that don’t add up, so one of the nurses reaches out to Izzy, just to look into things. According to Izzy, they have a weird conversation. Bobbi doesn’t remember the car accident, then says she does, then admits that there was no car accident at all. Eventually Izzy gets her to admit that it was her dad who did all that to her, not some car crash. So Izzy calls me, we open an investigation, and now we need to find a place for Bobbi to stay that is far away from that father of hers.”

“My god,” said Phil.

“That son of a… he broke her ribs?” May asked angrily.

“With a baseball bat, apparently. One of the ribs punctured her lung, which is why she’s been in the hospital for a while. They had to operate.”

“I… I don’t even know what to say.” Phil sounded heartbroken. Skye understood, she felt bad too, listening to what Miss Hand was saying about this girl. She knew what it was like to be hurt by the people who were supposed to take care of you. She had never had a broken rib, or a punctured lung, though. They sounded like excruciating injuries.

She looked over at Jemma, who’s face was twisted up in dismay. Skye reached for her hand.

“We should go,” she said quietly, and Jemma nodded. Neither one was especially interested in hearing any more about the awful things that had happened to this Bobbi girl. Skye felt bad for eavesdropping. The things they’d heard were supposed to be private, and now they weren’t, all because Skye couldn’t control her own curiosity.

They traipsed back to the kitchen and finished washing and putting away the dishes that had been abandoned in favor of the phone call. It was the least they could do, Skye figured. As they put the last few things away, May and Phil reemerged, both with somber looks on their faces. If Skye hadn’t known any better, she would have been terrified and one hundred percent convinced that she and Jemma were being sent away.

“Hey, thanks for putting away the dishes,” Phil said, noticing their handiwork. “That’s a big help.” Neither Skye nor Jemma could bring themselves to look even remotely cheerful at his gratitude.

“Would it be okay if we spoke with the two of you?” May asked. Both girls exchanged nervous looks. Skye figured Jemma was feeling wracked with guilt over their spying, since the same feeling was wrapping its fingers around her own heart. May misinterpreted their distress.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing bad. No one is in trouble or anything like that. Come on, let’s sit in the living room, it’s more comfortable.” Silently, Skye and Jemma followed the adults into the living room and settled onto the couch side by side.

“Well,” Phil began, looking uneasy. “I guess the first thing to say is that Melinda and I have really loved being your foster parents this last week. You two are both wonderful, smart, and kind girls, and we’re grateful to have you in our lives.” Skye felt her stomach clench. This was starting to sound a lot like a goodbye speech. She had thought the phone conversation made it sound like they were all staying, but now Phil was acting like they were going to send her and Jemma away.

“Miss Hand called us, just now,” May continued. “And she told us about another girl, who’s a little older than you, who really needs someone to help her out right now. She’s coming from a place where she wasn’t treated right, and she needs someone to look out for her for a while. I’m thinking that maybe you two can understand what that might be like.” She looked at both girls, and waited for them to nod.

“So, after thinking about it very seriously, Melinda and I decided that the right thing to do would be for us to try and help,” Phil said. Skye bit her lip and tried to keep her chin from quivering. Somehow she had misunderstood everything, and now not only did she feel guilty for spying, she felt the familiar sickening sensation of being rejected, unwanted, and kicked back to the pound.

“When do we have to leave?” came Jemma’s tiny voice. It sounded like she was about to start crying, too, but it was she who grabbed Skye’s hand and gave a reassuring squeeze, rather than the other way around. Skye couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of warmth at the gesture. Of course Jemma could tell how bad she was feeling, and of course she would want to make Skye feel better, no matter how sad she herself was.

“What?” Phil looked baffled, and May’s brow was knit together in confusion. “What do you mean, leave? Where are you going?”

“Well you’re sending us back, right?” Skye said. A hard edge crept into her voice, but her eyes were starting to grow watery. “You’re sending us back to St. Agnes so you can help the new girl.”

“We understand,” Jemma placated. “It’s very nice that you want to help her.” The looks of confusion melted off of Phil and May’s face and were replaced by sad, worried ones.

“Oh, honey, no,” soothed Phil. “That’s not what we were saying at all.”

“We’re sorry for not being clearer,” May said. “We would never send either one of you back to St. Agnes, unless that’s what you wanted us to do. We made a commitment to you both when we signed up to be your foster parents, and we’re not going to break that commitment, ever. We want you to stay with us.” Skye wasn’t sure what to say. All of her feelings were so jumbled up inside of her that nothing was making much sense.

Sensing her unease, Phil spoke again. “We wanted to ask you both how you felt about another kid coming to live with us. All of us. We wanted to see if you were okay with us trying to help her out.”

“Oh,” Skye said, after a long pause. “You’re asking us? For real?”

“For real,” said May. “Phil and I decided that it was something that we wanted to do, but you and Jemma are a part of this family now, too, so you get to have some input in the decisions that will affect all of us. Phil and I will make the final choice, but we didn’t want to decide anything without talking to you two about it.” It surprised Skye just how genuine Phil and May were being, and how it seemed like they honestly wanted her and Jemma’s opinions. Most of the time kids came and went from foster homes without warning, and Skye couldn’t ever think of a time when a foster parent had asked her what she thought about something this important.

“It’s important to help people,” Jemma said. “That’s the right thing to do. I think we should let her stay with us.”

Skye pumped her head up and down. “Yeah. You guys helped us out a lot by letting us stay here, it’s only fair that another kid gets that too. You two are definitely the best foster parents I’ve ever had.”

May and Phil looked touched by their words, and when Phil spoke, he had to clear his throat a few times to get the choked-up sound to leave his voice.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to us.”

“We’ll have to do some figuring when it comes to beds,” May warned. “Bringing a new person into the family will mean some adjustments, and maybe some sacrifices. For example, we might need the two of you to share a room while she’s here.” Skye glanced at Jemma and saw a guilty look flash across her face. Steeling herself, Skye decided it was time for a small confession.

“We don’t mind that,” she said. “We um… we actually have something to tell you about that.” Phil and May exchanged intrigued looks, but didn’t interrupt Skye. “Jemma and I… have kind of been sleeping in the same room since we got here. I was having trouble sleeping, because it’s so empty and quiet here, so Jemma let me sleep with her the first night, and after that it… kind of became a habit.”

To her immense relief, neither May nor Phil looked upset at her admission.

“We always shared a room with a lot of other girls at St. Agnes,” Jemma explained. “And we hardly ever get our own rooms with foster families, so we just weren’t used to being alone. It felt…” She faltered. Naming emotions was sometimes a challenge for Jemma. She looked at Skye for help, which Skye supplied.

“It felt… lonely,” she settled on. After a moment, she admitted a deeper feeling that being apart had given her. “It felt a little scary, too.”

“We had no idea,” Phil said, shaking his head slightly. “You must be pretty sneaky to pull that off for so long. Every time I checked on you, Skye, you were always in your bed.”

“I waited until you went to sleep,” she confessed sheepishly. “And I got up early to go back to my room before you were up.”

“You should have told us you preferred sharing a room,” said May, not unkindly. “We didn’t even think about how it would feel to be alone at night, but if we had known, we could have moved your things in together.”

“We didn’t want to upset you,” Skye explained. “The rooms were both so nice, and you went to all the trouble. It seemed ungrateful to not use it.” She ducked her head, a little ashamed.

“All we ever wanted for the rooms was to make a space that you felt comfortable in. If what makes you comfortable in your room is sharing it with another person, then that’s all that matters,” May said. “We can do some rearranging today, if you want.” Skye and Jemma nodded, smiles spreading across both faces.

“Excellent,” Phil grinned. “Can I tell you a few things about your new foster sister before we get started? Just so there are no surprises when she gets here tomorrow?” The girls nodded again. “Her name is Bobbi, and she’s fifteen, so she won’t be in school with you.”

“Will she be in school with _you_?” Skye interrupted.

Phil nodded. “Yep, she’ll be at the high school with me. She’s been in the hospital for the past week or so getting better from some injuries, so I don’t know exactly how she’s going to feel when she gets here. She may just need some time to rest and recover, so we’ll do our best to give her what she needs.”

“Is she nice?” Jemma asked. Worry laced the question, and Skye was sure Jemma was picturing some of the older girls from St. Agnes who used to torment them.

“Well, we haven’t met her yet, but I’m sure she’s nice. Miss Hand said she thought this would be a good place for her, so I’m guessing she thought we would all get along okay,” Phil reassured her.

When it seemed like neither Skye nor Jemma had any remaining questions, May stood and pulled out her phone again. “I’m going to call Vic back and let her know that we’re good to go here. You three can head upstairs and start moving some things around, if you want. I’ll meet you in a minute.”

Phil nodded and led Jemma and Skye upstairs. They spent the better part of the next hour working on their rooms, and eventually they were able to arrange the furniture in Jemma’s room in such a way that there was space for Skye’s bed to slide in comfortably. They decided to leave the dresser and desk in Skye’s old room for Bobbi, and Jemma wasted no time in reorganizing the drawers in her own dresser and desk to make room for Skye’s things.

It only took Skye a few trips to move all of her clothes, both old and new, and the rest of her things across the hall. The only things she hadn’t moved by the time they finished were her computer parts. She still had those tucked away out of sight, and with Phil standing there with them, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull them out. She didn’t think he would get mad that she had them, but he might think that the stuff was just junk and ask her to throw it away, which she knew she didn’t want to happen. She had worked too hard finding all of her pieces over the years to let them go into the trash now. She decided that rehoming her computer-in-progress could wait until the evening, and resolved to move things over at night, when no one but Jemma would notice.

May joined them as they were finishing up, and told them that Miss Hand would be bringing Bobbi by the next day, probably around lunchtime. She praised their hard work and complimented the new room setup, which made Skye and Jemma puff up with pride. They showed her how they had found a place for all of their new things, including Skye’s hula girl and compartment lamp, which were on the desk, and Jemma’s periodic table poster and her star lamp, which was perched on the top of the bookshelf.

As they all stood in the room admiring its makeover, Jemma suddenly sprung up and picked up her biology encyclopedia from the spot where it had lain on the desk for the past week. Shyly, she opened the cover and slid out her star map, unfolding it with great care.

“Do you think we could hang this up, too?” she asked. Skye felt a warm, fuzzy feeling radiate inside of her. The fact that Jemma felt like the house was safe enough to hang her stars up was a big deal.

“Of course!” Phil said, grabbing the tape they had used to hang the other poster. “You find a good spot for it, and I’ll help with the tape.” Jemma deliberated, then pointed to the stretch of wall right over her bed, which didn’t surprise Skye in the least. For as long as she had known her, Jemma liked to keep her stars within reach.

“That’s a really wonderful poster, Jemma,” May said, as Phil and Jemma worked together to hang it.

“It’s a map of the stars,” Jemma informed her. “My dad gave it to me a long time ago.”

“Did he like stars, too?” May asked. It was clever of her, Skye thought, to ask Jemma questions while she was preoccupied with something she liked.

Jemma nodded. “Even more than me. When I was little and couldn’t get out of bed from my surgery, he used to wheel my bed outside, and we would look at them together. Once I learnt them all, he gave me the map, so I could practice even when it was daytime.”

“Surgery?” inquired May.

“On my spine, to correct curvature from scoliosis. I got terribly bored having to lie still in bed all day, but he would read to me and teach me about all sorts of things. Plants, and animals, and chemistry, like from his work.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Phil said, sticking the final corner down. He gave Jemma a small, sad smile.

“He was.” Jemma didn’t elaborate, and her finger had snaked over to the bedpost to start tapping, its gentle rhythm punctuating the silence that befell them. May and Phil knew Jemma well enough to know not to press the conversation much further at that point.

“Well,” said May, breaking the silence. “I’m going to go see if I can find a store that can deliver a twin bed here by tomorrow. Skye, Jemma, you’re free to do whatever sounds like fun the rest of the afternoon.” She headed for the door, and Phil followed.

“I need to work on some lesson plans, so I’ll be in the office, but you can come find me if you need anything.”

“You just want an excuse to not do your work,” May teased him, and Phil threw his hands up in mock surrender.

“You can’t blame me for trying,” he joked. May just shook her head and shooed him out of the room. Skye could hear them both laughing as they moved down the hallway and downstairs.


	15. A Step in the Right Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for hospital

Miss Hand came back to see her the next day, late in the afternoon, this time without Detective Hartley. She told Bobbi that she had found a potential family that she could stay with. Bobbi wasn’t sure how that made her feel. She knew in her head that she couldn’t go back to her dad, that would be a death sentence. But still, it felt strange knowing that all of the sudden, she would be living somewhere else, with someone else as a parent.

“I heard the surgery went well,” Miss Hand said, trying to make small talk. Bobbi nodded. She wasn’t interested in talking about the day before. “I also heard,” Miss Hand continued, “that there was a bit of a commotion yesterday.”

Bobbi clamped down on her bottom lip. She wasn’t going to say a word.

“I’m sure that was a very frightening experience for you, Bobbi.” Miss Hand’s tone shifted. No longer was the conversation light and breezy. She sounded mad. No, serious. Bobbi looked up and confirmed her suspicions with the stern look on Miss Hand’s face.

“I want you to know that your father was arrested after what happened here yesterday. Disorderly conduct, assaulting a hospital employee, violation of the parameters of our investigation. He wasn’t supposed to come anywhere near you. I know it seems like, maybe, after yesterday, that Detective Hartley and I didn’t keep our word to you. I’m sure you didn’t feel very safe when he was right down the hall. But now that we’re investigating and now that he’s in custody, I want to assure you that you’ll never have to see him again if you don’t want to. We will make sure he stays far away from you, and I mean that this time.” Away. Far away. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be far away from him. He had always been there, always looming over her every move, breath, and thought like a billowing and bellowing dragon that had her wrapped up in its scaly coils.

“Now, it’s my understanding that tomorrow, you’re being fitted for a knee brace and discharged. I’ll be here to pick you up, and then we’ll go back to your old house so you can grab what you need, and then we’ll go meet your new foster family. They live in Manitowoc, and they have two other foster daughters that live with them, younger than you. Your foster dad is a high school teacher, and your foster mom is an old friend of mine. They’re good people. I think you’ll like them.” Bobbi kept silent. She wasn’t ready to think about a house full of strangers that she was about to live with. She just wanted to stay in the white, starchy room forever, away from the rest of the world. She wanted to sleep, or to curl up and hide. Her hands twitched. She wanted to run. She wanted to twirl.

“Do you have some pens or something?” she asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was croaky. She hadn’t been using it very much since her dad had shown up. She didn’t feel like talking. Miss Hand looked curious, but dug in her bag and pulled out a pair of ballpoint pens.

“How are these?” she asked, holding the pens out. Stiffly, Bobbi took them and tested them out, spinning a pen between her fingers in each hand. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do until she could get her batons.

“Thanks,” she said. She meant it, too. Even if it wasn’t the same, it still felt immeasurably good to have something twirling in her hands. She felt calmer than she had in days.

“Glad they did the trick,” Miss Hand said with a rare smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow for discharge, all right?” Bobbi nodded. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.


	16. An Awkward Introduction

By the time lunch rolled around on Sunday, Skye could barely contain the anticipation that was zipping through her veins. She wasn’t the only one, either. Phil was practically a jittery mess, straightening the cushions on the couch over and over and checking and rechecking that everything was put away in its proper spot. Normally he wasn’t such a stickler about cleaning up, but Skye guess he was just as nervous as she was, maybe more so. May was moving stiffly, and she had barely said a word since the morning. Skye could practically feel the stress radiating off of her. She wondered if Phil and May had been this out of sorts before they came to St. Agnes to pick Jemma up.

“Still no word from the delivery company,” May said tersely, checking her phone for the millionth time.

“We’ll make it work,” Phil comforted her, although Skye noticed that his gentle tone didn’t match the anxious way his eyes darted around the living room. “The couch in the den pulls out, it’s not so bad to sleep on, at least for a night or two.”

"What a way to welcome her,” May muttered. “ _We’re glad you’re in our home, come sleep on the couch_.” Skye had never heard May sound so bitter and sarcastic before. She glanced over at Jemma, who looked just as surprised as she felt. Phil must have noticed too, because he placed a calming hand on May’s arm and gave her a warning look.

“It’s really going to be okay, honey.” May took a deep breath, and her face softened somewhat. She nodded and gave Phil’s hand a grateful pat.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“Me too,” Phil said. “Maybe we should do something to take our minds off of things until she and Victoria get here.”

“Board game?” Skye suggested. Phil had dug out the few games he and May kept in a closet the other night, and Skye had found them surprisingly entertaining. There were a couple games at St. Agnes, but none of them had all the pieces, and most of the kids cheated, so it was never much fun to play. Here, though, she found she actually liked playing them. Well, except for Monopoly. That game was incapable of ever being fun, as far as Skye was concerned.

They spent the next half hour fully engaged in a riveting game of Clue, which May won handily.

“You have to admit that the professional detective probably has a bit of an advantage,” Phil pointed out as they gathered up the pieces and replaced them in the box.

“Hey, you were really close, Jemma,” Skye said, glancing at Jemma’s clue sheet as she collected the loose papers.

“I had the answer figured out, but I couldn’t get back to the right room quickly enough,” said Jemma. She looked conflicted between being proud for deducing the answer and being sad for losing the game.

“I always hate when that happens,” May told her sympathetically. A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she leaned over to Jemma with a fake whisper. “That’s usually the only way Phil can ever beat me.” Jemma giggled at the put-out expression on Phil’s face, but he didn’t deny it. Just as Skye slid the lid back onto the box, the doorbell rang. Everyone froze for a second, before May gave herself a shake and got up to answer the door.

“I guess they’re here,” Phil said, straightening his tie. He picked up the game box like he was going to take it back to the closet, then thought better of it and set it back down on the coffee table where it had been sitting. He looked more flustered than Skye had ever seen him. Without thinking, she reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, just like she would do for Jemma. He looked surprised at the gesture for a split second before his eyes crinkled into a grateful smile. He squeezed back.

“Thanks Skye. Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” she told him, offering her own smile. She wasn’t sure what had made her do it. She had never voluntarily touched a foster parent, especially a foster dad, like that before, but something about it had felt right in the moment. The look on Phil’s face made her glad she had.

“Everyone’s just through here,” came May’s voice, and suddenly she was walking into the room, Miss Hand and the new girl trailing behind her. She was tall, taller than May by several inches, and she looked lean and athletic, even as she wobbled into the room on a pair of crutches. She had wavy blonde hair that cascaded down past her shoulders and big, blue eyes. Skye recognized the look in them as one she had worn many times before – a nervous, suspicious look that tried to project a cool confidence that didn’t really exist. She was wearing a t-shirt, so Skye could see mottled, half-healed bruises patterning both of her arms, and the shadow of a sizable bruise on her jaw as well, plus a chunky orthopedic brace that encased her right knee. The girl was trying to look stoic and capable, but she was struggling with the crutches. Whether that came from not knowing how to use them or from fractured ribs, Skye couldn’t tell.

“Come in, have a seat,” May invited, gesturing to the sofa and chairs in the living room. “Can I get either of you anything?” The girl didn’t make a move, and Miss Hand shook her head as she settled herself in the same chair she had sat in when she had come to talk about Jemma and Skye.

“No, thanks, May,” she said, all business as usual. Skye looked around awkwardly at everyone standing, and decided to plunk onto the couch, pulling Jemma with her. The movement seemed to snap Phil and May out of their trances as well, because they joined the girls on the couch a moment later.

“Would you like to sit, Bobbi?” May asked. The girl just shook her head and adjusted her grip on her crutches. It was Phil who finally broke the ice.

“Well, Bobbi, I’m Phil, and this is my wife Melinda, and Skye and Jemma. We’re all really pleased to meet you.” He flashed his glowing smile at Bobbi, and Skye saw something flicker in her eyes.

“Skye and Jemma are also foster children,” Miss Hand explained. “I’ve worked with them for a number of years, and Phil and May recently decided to foster them. Things are going well?” She directed the question at the four on the couch. Neither May nor Phil answered, waiting instead for Skye and Jemma to give their input first. Skye hoped Bobbi knew how lucky she was to be in a home where the foster parents actually let you speak for yourself, rather than talking over you all the time.

“Things are good,” she said, pumping her head up and down. “Phil and May are really nice, and school is okay, too.”

“We like it here a lot,” Jemma added. Skye noticed that her hands were both shoved between her legs and the seat of the couch in an attempt to keep from tapping. Skye felt a pang of sadness knowing that Jemma was probably forcing herself not to tap until she was able to get a read on the new girl. It was understandable. Plenty of Jemma’s worst tormentors had been other kids, and there was no telling how Bobbi would react to Jemma’s eccentricities. Still, it made Skye’s chest hurt to think that Jemma was making such a concerted effort to hide herself.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Miss Hand nodded. “And not surprised. May and Phil are some of the best.”

“Don’t make me blush, Vic,” May chided, a playful smile twitching across her face. Miss Hand chuckled and made a shooing motion. It was still odd for Skye to see her social worker acting so… normal around May and Phil. She was still stern and business-like – Skye didn’t think she’d ever drop that completely – but she joked around and chatted with Phil and May more than Skye had ever seen her with any other grownups.

“Well, I guess I’ll get right to it,” Miss Hand said, clearing her throat. “Bobbi was just released from the hospital, so I have all of her discharge paperwork here.” She handed over a packet of papers to May. “There are instructions there for her recovery, the name of a physical therapist, everything you should need. Her medications are packed in one of these bags – the duffel maybe? Anyhow, she has them, and instructions for those are in the paperwork as well. Like I said on the phone yesterday, her file is pretty slim, but I brought a copy for you. School records and medical records are all in there. Bobbi, you’ll be going to school while you stay here, and you’ll be expected to follow all of May and Phil’s rules. I gave you my number in the car, and you can call me anytime, but Phil and May are your guardians now, so you can also go to them if you need anything.” Bobbi nodded, but didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the room. Her fingers drummed against the grips of one of her crutches, but Skye wasn’t sure if it was from boredom or nerves. She found their new foster sister fascinating, and much harder to read than expected. She was going to have to up her observational game if she wanted to pick up on Bobbi’s thoughts and moods with any degree of accuracy.

“Do you have any questions, Bobbi?” Miss Hand asked.

After a long pause, Bobbi finally spoke. Her voice was a little croaky, like maybe she hadn’t used it much recently, and her tone was flat. “Where do I sleep?”

“There’s actually a little snag with that currently,” May said. “We have a room ready for you, but the bed that we ordered for you hasn’t been delivered yet. It should be here soon, but until then–”

“We have a pull-out couch in the den,” Phil piped up, trying to sound upbeat. “We’re sorry it’s not the best of accommodations, but hopefully it will only be for a night or two. You’re welcome to put your things in your room, if you want, or keep them with you in the den until the bed gets here.”

“Den’s fine,” Bobbi said. After a beat, she seemed to realize how impolite she was sounding, and added an almost bashful “thanks.”

“Skye, Jemma, why don’t you two show Bobbi where the den is?” May said pointedly, and Skye knew that was a signal to leave the adults alone together so they could talk in private. She and Jemma nodded, though, and got up from the couch together.

“The den’s this way,” Skye told Bobbi, waving towards the back of the house. “Do you want help taking your stuff back?” Bobbi paused briefly, and Skye could practically see her wheels turning. Bobbi’s eyes flicked over to Miss Hand, who offered a small, crisp nod.

“Okay, sure. Thanks,” Bobbi said. She tried to lean over to pick up the duffel bag but teetered alarmingly on the crutches. As she steadied herself, Skye scooped up the bag and slung it over her shoulders.

“We got it,” she said, grabbing one of the trash bags that Miss Hand had brought in, while Jemma gathered the other. There was an awkward beat, as everyone waited for someone else to make the first move. Skye felt her skin practically crawl at the uncomfortable tension that was still thick in the air. Unable to stand it anymore, she marched off towards the den, hoping to jumpstart some kind of progress.

She and Jemma led the way back to the den, which had been straightened up the night before. The couch was already pulled out into the bed form, and May had put on clean sheets that morning. Bobbi trailed behind them, each thump of the crutches propelling her forward one lurching step at a time.

“Is it hard to use the crutches?” Skye asked as she set Bobbi’s things down on the floor next to the bed. She was never one to let silence linger for too long, and she thought maybe she could get the new girl to open up a little without the grownups around. She wanted to get an idea of who Bobbi was as soon as possible, to know if she was going to be okay or if she and Jemma needed to watch out for her while she stayed with them.

“I guess I’m not exactly making it look easy,” Bobbi grumbled. She caught herself and returned her tone to a more neutral level. “They’re fine. I’m just not used to them. And I’m not fully healed. Besides my knee, I mean. So that makes it harder, too.” Skye nodded sympathetically.

“So, I’m Skye, and this is Jemma,” Skye said. “I know they already said that, but I didn’t know if you knew which one of us was which.” The corners of Bobbi’s mouth twitched, which pleased Skye. It wasn’t a real smile, but it was a good sign, at least.

“How long have you lived here?” Bobbi wanted to know. She inched over the bed and gingerly lowered herself onto the mattress with a grimace. Jemma watched intently, and Skye knew her doctorly instincts were itching to kick in. She probably had a million questions for Bobbi that she was either too polite or too afraid to ask. It was probably for the best, Skye reasoned. Bobbi was still very guarded, and a medical inquisition from Jemma would probably scare her off or turn her against them before she had even unpacked.

“Almost a week,” Skye told her. Bobbi’s eyebrows crept up her forehead. Apparently, it wasn’t as long as she had expected. “But Jemma and I knew each other before. We both lived at St. Agnes together before May and Phil started fostering us.”

“St. Agnes is…?”

“An orphanage. About thirty minutes from here.”

“Oh.” Bobbi looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t know what to say. It was a look Skye had seen a lot over the years.

“I guess technically it’s a group home, I don’t think they really have orphanages anymore, but it’s an old place, and the sign over it still says orphanage.” She was rambling now, trying to fill the silence and trying to pull Bobbi back in. She didn’t want their new foster sibling to tune them out already, just because of stupid St. Agnes.

“Okay. Right.”

“This is definitely the nicest house either one of us has ever been in, though,” Skye said, barreling forward, desperately trying to force her way past the awkwardness that was creeping back in. “Right, Jemma?”

Jemma blanched a little, clearly not expecting Skye to pull her into the conversation, but she nodded and gave a tenuous smile. Bobbi watched them both with a slightly unnerving intensity, like she was taking in a life-or-death tennis match.

“How many houses have you been in?” she asked. Skye paused, trying to count. Jemma looked embarrassed beside her.

“I don’t know, a bunch, I guess,” Skye admitted. “I think this is my…eighth? No, ninth.” Bobbi looked expectantly at Jemma, who flushed. Skye was certain Jemma knew exactly how many homes she had been in, but figured that Jemma wasn’t ready to start talking to someone so new as Bobbi yet. Jemma had been doing so well with Phil and May and Fitz that Skye had nearly forgotten how clammed up Jemma usually was around people.

“Sorry, I don’t like it when people ask me stupid questions, either,” Bobbi said, sensing Jemma’s reticence. She slouched over and glared down at her lap. “Just ignore me. I don’t know what I’m saying.” Skye was taken aback by the sudden shift in Bobbi’s demeanor as she chastised herself. It was like a switch had been flipped, and suddenly the teenager who had been trying to make small talk was sucked into a sullen shell.

“No, it’s not…” Skye faltered, torn between wanting to reassure Bobbi that she hadn’t done anything wrong and not wanting to speak for Jemma when she was standing right next to her.

“This is my sixth house,” Jemma said, the words spilling out of her mouth. Skye swung her gaze back and forth between Jemma and Bobbi, both of whom were looking deeply uncomfortable. Skye felt the crawly feeling return as silence fell over the three of them yet again.

Finally, Bobbi spoke. “It must be hard, moving around so much all the time. I’ve only ever lived with my…” Something in her voice hitched and she faltered. “I just mean, I’ve never had to move before. I can’t imagine what it would be like to do it so many times.” Skye wasn’t sure, but she thought there might have been a shade of consternation in the older girl’s tone. Maybe Bobbi couldn’t imagine what it was like to move around every few months, but Skye couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live in the same place for 15 years and then have to leave all of the sudden. She figured she would be more than a little freaked out.

“It’s not always bad,” she said, trying to inject some confidence. “And you get used to it eventually. Sometimes you even get lucky and end up in a place like this.” Bobbi nodded thoughtfully, but before anyone could say anything else, Phil’s voice drifted back to them, calling them all back to the living room.

All three traipsed back to the front of the house, where Miss Hand was gathering her things to leave. She told everyone goodbye, and reminded them that they could call her with any questions or issues. Bobbi had clammed up again, and only offered Miss Hand a stiff half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes as the social worker made her way to the door.

“We’ve got to get you and Izzy over here for dinner sometime soon,” May called as she left. Miss Hand laughed and nodded. “I mean it, Vic,” May said, laughing too. “I’ll call you. Or Phil will. It’s been too long.” One more round of waving farewell was shared, and then Miss Hand was in her car and pulling away from the house. Skye would never have called Miss Hand a lively presence, but as soon as she was gone, the mood of the house became even more tense and uncomfortable, which Skye hadn’t thought was possible.

“Well, did you get settled all right? I hope the den was okay…” May asked with uncertainty.

“It was good,” Bobbi told her, rocking back and forth slightly on her crutches. It seemed to be an almost unconscious, idle movement, and Skye was pleasantly reminded of her own fidgeting. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t outgrown a wiggly habit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” Phil asked. “I’m sure it’s not good on your injuries to be up on crutches all the time.” Bobbi hesitated for a moment, before shrugging and hobbling over to the chair that Miss Hand had occupied earlier. She eased herself down with the same pained expression she had worn when she sat on the bed in the den, and Skye wondered just how much pain she was in. So far Bobbi hadn’t given the impression of one who was likely to let on about much, and Skye suspected that she was probably hiding how much she hurt.

“We’d love to get to know you a little bit, Bobbi,” Phil said, his warmest smile spreading wide. “What should we know about you?”

Bobbi scrunched her nose slightly and retrained her eyes on the carpet. Phil and May, not surprisingly, waited with patience. It was one of Skye’s favorite things about the both of them. They never rushed anyone when it came to answering questions.

“Not much, I guess,” Bobbi finally said. “I’m a sophomore. I play… played soccer. At my old school, I mean. Before my knee got messed up.”

“You might still be able to play, if you wanted to,” May said encouragingly. “Vic gave us the contact information to a physical therapist that the hospital recommended. They might be able to help get you healthy enough to play again.” Bobbi didn’t look up, but offered her tight half-smile again. Sensing that knee recovery was a touchy subject, May dropped the matter.

“What are some other things you like to do?” Phil asked, trying to change the subject. “Favorite food? Favorite movie?”

“I was in some clubs at school. French club, Spanish club. I like languages. We had a science club, too. We’d go on hikes and stuff, look for turtles and birds to try and classify them. That was pretty fun when I could go.” Jemma perked up at the mention of a science club, and Skye had to bite back a giggle at the way Jemma’s face lit up when Bobbi talked about classifying animals.

“We might have some clubs like that at the high school where I teach,” Phil told her. “I don’t know very much about science, but we have some great science teachers. The biology teacher, Ms. Diaz, is top-notch, and she always takes a group to the lake at the end of the year for an aquatic biology overnight. And I know we have French and Spanish clubs.”

“And the AV club, of course,” May added with a playful look towards Phil.

“How could I forget?” Phil’s smile spread even wider, and he puffed up a little in his sit. Skye recognized the buzz of his excitement and felt herself smiling along with him in spite of herself. “It’s more like an AV club-film club hybrid. I’m the advisor. Sometimes we do some work with cameras and video production, but it’s really just an excuse to watch movies once a week during lunch, if I’m being honest. We’re on a little bit of a sci-fi kick right now, and we’re about halfway through _Chopping Mall_.”

There was an empty pause, and Phil’s face fell at the sight of the four blank expressions looking back at him. “Oh, come on, guys. _Chopping Mall_? It’s a classic! Evil robots, 80’s science…? Nothing?” He shook his head incredulously. “You’re seriously missing out. This is definitely going on our family ‘to watch’ list. For the cultural experience if nothing else.” He was chuckling now, and May joined him in laughter.

“Anyway, you don’t have to join the AV club,” she assured Bobbi. “I wouldn’t blame you if _Chopping Mall_ doesn’t strike you as appealing.” Skye watched as Bobbi squeezed the corners of her mouth outwards into an attempt at a smile that looked more like a pained grimace. There was a flicker of something in Bobbi’s eyes that Skye recognized. She had seen the same look in Jemma’s eyes more than once: a cornered, desperate look that Jemma usually only got when she was on the verge of losing it but was fighting to hold it together because she was too afraid of what the people around her would do if she didn’t.

Just as quickly as it had come, the look vanished from Bobbi’s eyes, and her face became a mask again. She tightened her grip on her crutches, giving them a sharp squeeze as she inhaled just as sharply. She looked up suddenly, and her expression rearranged itself yet again, this time into something softer and more pleasant. Skye was reminded again of a flipping switch.

“That might be okay,” she said. “Watching movies at school doesn’t sound too bad.”

“My thinking exactly,” nodded Phil. His smile never faltered, but Skye noticed he made pointed eye contact with May, who had been taking in the whole scene just as ardently as Skye.

“Well that’s probably enough interrogation for now,” May said, standing slowly and using a tone of voice that Skye had begun to recognize as one reserved for moving things along. “Bobbi, I’m sure you’re tired after such an eventful day. Feel free to rest or watch TV or whatever seems good. We’ll all just be catching up on some work around here, but please let me or Phil know if you need anything. One of us will probably check in on you in a little while, too, if that’s okay.”

Bobbi’s shoulders slackened slightly, and she nodded. She hoisted herself back onto her feet and began crossing the room jerkily towards the den without a word.

“Skye, Jemma, I think you two have some homework to finish, correct?” May asked, turning back to the pair of girls still sitting on the couch. Skye scowled, but nodded along with Jemma and plodded over to the kitchen table without further complaint. Of all the unpleasant things to be forced to do on a Sunday afternoon, Skye thought, homework with Jemma wasn’t really too bad.


	17. Good Feelings

Skye didn’t see Bobbi for pretty much the rest of the afternoon. She and Jemma spent most of it at the table, catching up on _The Giver_ and, at least in Skye’s case, struggling through a math worksheet.

May sat with them, helping out occasionally but mostly focusing on the medical paperwork Miss Hand had dropped off. She kept it tucked inside the file folder as she read, so Skye couldn’t see what any of it said, not that she even wanted to pry into Bobbi’s records like that. Skye liked knowing things and on more than one occasion had resorted to various methods of sneaking to learn the things she wanted to know, but even she knew that something like papers from Bobbi’s doctor were personal. Besides, she had no reason to need to know anything that would be in a file like that. Her own file, on the other hand, she would have loved to lay her eyes on.

While Skye had heard Miss Hand’s speech about her plenty of times, she had never been able to get ahold of a full copy of her file. She got in trouble at St. Agnes once because she had managed to crack into the nuns’ computer system to access her digital file. She had gotten a month’s worth of kitchen and laundry duty for that, plus a couple raps across the knuckles with Sister Margaret’s discipline rod. It had hurt to use a keyboard for a week afterwards, and the worst part of it was, she had barely learned anything new. Skye had eventually pieced together that the St. Agnes had only “gone digital” a few years ago, about a year after Jemma had first come there, so all of the older information on Skye was still only in a hard copy in her file. The digital file had her school records and all the records of her various indiscretions, but no mentions of her early years or of how she had come to the orphanage in the first place. The story told to her by the nuns of being dropped off on the doorstep without a name or any identification papers was a deeply unsatisfying one, and Skye was determined to uncover any other shred of information that she possibly could. And as far as Skye could figure, the only way to do that was to eventually figure out a way to see her file – her whole file.

As the afternoon slowly began to creep into the evening, Phil reemerged from his office and joined Skye and Jemma at the table while May drifted away to finish up some of her own work.

“How’s the book coming?” he asked, craning his neck to get a look at what page they were on.

“Okay, I guess,” Skye shrugged. The book had certainly improved the farther into it they got, but she still wasn’t crazy about it. She still thought the whole world the main kid, Jonas, lived in made very little sense, but Jemma assured her that she wasn’t missing anything.

“We only have one more chapter left to read,” Jemma said. She had been doing the majority of the reading, which Skye was grateful for, but her voice was starting to sound a little hoarse.

“I have an idea, but I want to see what you two think first,” said Phil. “What do you say I read the last chapter out loud to you, to give you both a little break, and Jemma you can get some water for that throat?” Jemma blushed, but Skye’s face split into a grin and she pumped her head up and down. Having someone else do her homework for her was about one of the greatest ideas Skye had ever heard. She gave Jemma a nudge, prompting the younger girl to get up from the table and fix a glass of water for herself. Without hesitating, she pressed her copy of the book into Phil’s hands and pulled her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged on the seat of the chair, fully prepared to listen without having to follow along.

Phil waited until Jemma had come back to the table with her water and taken a long sip before clearing his throat and beginning to read. Skye was delighted, but not surprised, to learn that Phil had an excellent reading voice. He made everything sound just dramatic and serious enough, while still using his familiar, gentle tone, and he went out of his way to make sure each character had their own unique voice. Before long, Skye was thinking less about how Phil was doing her homework for her and more about how nice it was to have someone read to her out loud with so much care and attention. She had a vague memory of some of the nuns reading out loud to her when she was much younger, and there had been a few teachers here and there in elementary school who had read books to her classes, but none of those times had ever felt quite like this.

Beside her, Jemma wore an unsure expression that looked out of place on her face. It wasn’t often that Jemma looked quite so confused. Skye caught Jemma’s attention and furrowed her brow in an effort to see what was wrong without interrupting Phil, but Jemma only shook her head and locked her gaze on the book instead of Skye. Apparently, that was going to have to be a conversation for the two of them to have later.

Phil seemed not to notice, though, and he kept reading until they reached the point where Miss Hill had told Skye and Jemma to stop in order to be caught up with the rest of the class.

“To be continued,” he grinned, closing the book and setting it down on the kitchen table. “It’s getting pretty interesting, don’t you think?” Skye just shrugged, and Jemma didn’t move at all, her eyes fixed on her half-empty glass of water. Phil stood then, stretching his arms wide and twisting his back side to side a little so that it made a couple of tiny “clicks.” He groaned slightly, but his playful expression assured the girls that he wasn’t really in pain.

“The drawbacks of getting old, kiddos,” he joked. “All my joints are starting to sound like Rice Krispies: they snap, crackle, and pop!”

“You’re not old,” Jemma assured him, snapping out of whatever reverie she had been lost in moments ago. “Middle-aged is much more accurate.”

“How old _are_ you, Phil?” Skye wanted to know. She realized as she said it that she probably shouldn’t have blurted the question out, but she was genuinely curious, and he didn’t seem to be offended.

“I just turned 45 last July,” he said. “So you’re right, Jemma, middle-aged is probably more accurate. I just feel older than I am sometimes.”

“What about May?” Skye asked, pressing her luck. “How old is she?”

“You know you should never ask a woman her age,” came May’s voice from the doorway. Skye looked up to see May standing there, and even though May was wearing a smile, Skye still felt her cheeks flush.

“Busted!” Phil crowed. He was laughing, and it didn’t take long for May to join him. Skye mumbled an apology, which May waved off.

“I was only teasing, Skye. Phil and I are the same age. We actually went to school together when we were younger.”

“Really?” Skye was having trouble wrapping her head around the idea of May and Phil being anything but adults. On the one hand, they did sometimes still act like kids, Phil especially, but even so, she had never actually considered the fact that they hadn’t always been grownups their whole lives.

“Well, high school. I moved here when my parents got divorced, when I was a sophomore. Phil and I were in the same grade, although we didn’t know each other very well then. More like friendly classmates than friends.”

“How did you get married then?” Skye prodded. She was enjoying the power of getting so many of her questions answered instead of brushed aside.

“Melinda’s selling us short,” Phil said with a wink. “We may not have been friends in high school, but we had some friends in common, so we spent plenty of time with each other. After high school, we ended up going to the same college. Not on purpose, but a lot of people in Manitowoc end up going to UW. We started spending more time together, and then eventually I asked her out on a date—”

“You mean I asked you out on a date,” May interrupted.

“You always forget this part of the story,” Phil chided. “I’m the romantic, it was definitely me who did the asking.”

“Agree to disagree,” smiled May, planting a kiss on Phil’s cheek.

“Anyway, regardless of who asked out who first, we started dating in college, and a few years after that, we decided to get married. Twenty years later, we’re still going strong!” Phil finished the story with a beam and returned May’s kiss. Skye resisted the urge to scrunch up her nose at the PDA, mostly because she thought it was nice that her foster parents actually liked each other, even if kissing was still kind of gross. Beside her, Jemma seemed enamored with the romance of it all. Not surprising, Skye decided, considering how many books Jemma devoured. The girl was a sucker for a good story, even if it was a love story.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I for one am worn out from this weekend,” May said. She looked briefly around at the other faces in the room, which seemed to confirm her suspicions. “How about, instead of anyone having to cook tonight, we just order some pizza?” Skye’s face split into an enormous grin and she had to fight to keep from bouncing up and down in her seat. Like almost any kid, she loved pizza, but she almost never had an opportunity to have it. The nuns certainly never ordered pizza at St. Agnes, and most of the foster families she had stayed with weren’t usually so inclined to spend money on take-out food for their foster kids. Jemma also looked excited at the prospect of pizza for dinner, although she did a much better job of containing herself than Skye did.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” laughed May. “Skye, Jemma, why don’t you two go and check on Bobbi and make sure that’s okay with her. See what kind of pizza she likes, too, and then Phil and I will place the order.”

Skye bounded up from the table, happy to oblige, and pulled Jemma along behind her. Within the last hour, her day had taken a sudden upturn. Between having Phil help finish her homework, hearing May and Phil’s story from when they were younger, and getting pizza for dinner, Sunday evening had turned out to be pretty good.

When Skye and Jemma neared the entryway to the den, Jemma gave Skye’s wrist a gentle tug, reminding her not to go barging into what was now Bobbi’s bedroom.

“We should knock first,” Jemma murmured, tapping absentmindedly on her leg.

“Right,” Skye said. She offered a sheepish shrug. “I forgot about that.” Jemma gave her a reassuring smile, and Skye stretched out her hand to knock on the doorframe, alerting Bobbi to their presence. When no answer came, Skye poked her head around the corner and peered into the den. Bobbi was perched on the bed with her eyes closed, her braced leg stretched out stiffly. The crutches were piled on the floor, like Bobbi had dropped them the minute she could without a second thought. A couple of the garbage bags had been pulled open, with clothes and other belongings spilling from their gaping tops. In her hands, Bobbi held two wooden rods, each one nearly a foot and a half long and a couple of inches thick. The wood was a little rough, but looked like it had been sanded and shaped enough to have grips on either end, and Skye could see places where it had been rubbed to an almost shiny smoothness. She figured those were the places where they had been handled the most. Bobbi’s face was screwed up in a look of concentration and she twirled the rods expertly back and forth in her hands as she took breaths in and out. It was obvious that she hadn’t heard or noticed Skye and Jemma at all. Skye cleared her throat.

“Hey, um, Bobbi?” Bobbi’s eyes snapped open and she whipped the rods out of sight, shoving them under her pillow in the blink of an eye. Skye took a step back, a little startled by the speed with which Bobbi had reacted.

“Sorry,” Skye apologized. “We didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Bobbi’s shoulders relaxed slightly, although her eyes still looked wary.

“No, it’s okay,” said Bobbi. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Skye meant to ask Bobbi about her pizza preferences, but before her brain had formulated the question, a different one flew out of her mouth.

“What are those things?” Behind her, Jemma let out a squeak, and Skye bit down hard on her own lip to keep any other rogue and invasive questions from escaping. Bobbi looked a little embarrassed and squirmed on the bed, casting her eyes anywhere but Skye and Jemma.

“They’re uh… well, they’re batons. I use them to twirl sometimes.”

“Like in a marching band or something?” Skye ignored Jemma’s elbow, which was now digging into her back in a desperate attempt to get Skye to stop. Bobbi had answered, so it seemed like maybe she didn’t mind Skye’s questions as much as Jemma feared she did.

“Um, no, not exactly. They’re more like… I use them to help me think,” Bobbi finally said. She eased the batons back out into plain sight. “Usually I spin them while I pace, but I can’t exactly do that right now, so I was trying to use them sitting down.”

“They’re cool,” Skye told her, taking a step closer to get a better look. “Where’d you get them?”

“I made them, actually. In shop class a couple of years ago.” Skye looked at Bobbi in awe.

“You made them? And your teacher let you?”

Bobbi’s cheeks grew pink. “Yeah. He honestly didn’t care very much what we made, as long as we didn’t chop our fingers off with the band saw. We all had to make a birdhouse for a grade, but other than that it was pretty much fair game.” Bobbi paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “In retrospect, he probably wasn’t the most responsible guy to be teaching eighth graders how to use power tools, but at least I got these out of it.”

Skye desperately wanted to touch them or even give them a twirl herself, but she saw how protectively Bobbi was cradling them and knew better than to ask right then. She settled instead for a long, careful look, taking in every swirl of the wood grain and spot of worn-down smoothness.

“They’re really cool,” she said again. She gave Bobbi a grin to let her know that she meant it, and Bobbi’s face fell into a small smile herself. Skye thought it might have been the first smile she had ever seen on the older girl’s face. Even though Skye was usually extra cautious around older foster siblings, something about Bobbi told Skye that she could be trusted. Like it was okay to open up and be nice to her, and that Skye didn’t have to worry about Bobbi trying to throw her weight around. She knew it was a little early to be deciding things like that, but even so, she had a good feeling. She hoped it would turn out to be right.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft tapping on her arm, and she turned to see Jemma looking at her pointedly.

“Oh yeah!” Skye exclaimed. “We came back here to ask you a question. Is pizza okay for dinner? What do you like on yours?”

“Anything but olives,” Bobbi said. Jemma made a face in solidarity. She wasn’t a fan either.

“Well at least we all have good taste,” laughed Skye. Her good feeling was only getting stronger.


	18. Stepping Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief mention of abuse

By the time pizza had been eaten, dishes had been washed, and kids had been sent to bed, Melinda May was beat. That was one of the things about being a new parent that she was still getting used to. She had known, of course, when she and Phil first reached out to Victoria about fostering that her life would become much busier and require a lot more of her, but she had underestimated just how tired she was going to feel. Deciding it wasn’t worth it to try and get any more work done that night, May began the process of getting ready for bed. She had just started to brush her teeth when Phil slipped into the bathroom behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a quick squeeze.

“Finally got Skye to settle down and say goodnight,” he said, grabbing his own toothbrush. May watched his face in the mirror as she finished. She studied the lines and creases that traced along his forehead and around his eyes, signs of love and laughter that made her heart still flutter like it had when she was a teenager.

“She was quite the chatterbox tonight,” he mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste. May just smiled.

“Don’t act like you aren’t thrilled,” she teased. “I know you well enough to know that you’re over the moon every time one of those kids wants to talk with you.”

“Can you blame me?” Phil asked. He rinsed his toothbrush and replaced it to its spot right next to his wife’s. Turning to face her, he beamed his thousand-watt smile that made May feel as though she were in the glow of a heat lamp. “We have some pretty great kids.”

“Yes we do,” she agreed, returning his smile. “I still can’t believe their all ours, even if it might be temporary. Did you ever imagine a month ago that you’d have three teenage daughters right now?”

“Technically Jemma’s not a teenager yet,” he chuckled. “But no, never in my wildest dreams. I like to think I’m taking to the task of being a girl dad pretty well, though, if I do say so myself.”

“Like a duck to water.”

“I mean, can you imagine how terrible I would do with a teenage son? Based on experience alone, what would I do with him? Force him to play football and scar him for life probably.”

“Oh stop.” May gave him a playful swat. “I know for a fact your father did more than that for you. Besides, you told me your dad let you quit football after your freshman year.”

“I’m only joking,” Phil assured her. “Still, I’m glad we have our girls.”

“You know, your dad would be so proud of you, Phil,” May said quietly. “Your mom, too.”

“I like to think so.” A sadder smile danced across his lips this time. He was silent for a while, and May let him sit with his memories. For all his smiling and joking, there were times when she knew it was important to let him be still.

After a minute or two, Phil cocked his head to one side and a mischievous look slid onto his face. “What about your parents, Mel? We haven’t even told them yet!”

“Oh God, don’t you dare, Phil. I can already picture the both of them. I’ll get around to it eventually, I promise. Once things have settled down… feel more permanent.”

“Your mom is going to be a hoot,” Phil teased. May gave him another swat and Phil scampered back into the bedroom, out of her reach.

“You’re as bad as the teenagers,” reprimanded May. “And yet I can’t help but love you.” The two climbed into bed then, and May felt the relief of a soft bed after a long day wash over her.

"Have I told you how much I love you today?” Phil asked. His voice was soft and thick with impending sleep. May nestled in closer to him.

“You might have mentioned something.”

“Well, just in case, I love you bucketloads,” he told her. “I love how brave you are for taking three kids in. I love how great of a mom you are to them.”

“Says the man who was born to be a dad.”

“That’s why we make such a good team,” Phil said.

“I’m a little worried about them,” May admitted, faltering slightly. Phil sat up and turned to look at her.

“You are? Why?”

“I just… I worry that we’re… that I’m not going to be able to give them everything they need. Or that we’re taking things too fast. I mean, Skye and Jemma were barely with us for a week before we brought Bobbi into the house.”

“It was the right thing to do. And they seem to be handling it okay,” Phil said.

“It’s just so soon to tell. Bobbi’s hardly said a word all day, and I’m sure you noticed Jemma’s clammed up again. Skye’s…”

“I really think they’re all going to be fine,” soothed Phil. “It’s just a lot of new that’s going to take some getting used to. You remember how quiet Jemma was when we first met her. We’ve just gotten used to her being a little more relaxed, but now she’s adjusting again. Skye’s like a rubber band, honestly, she’ll bounce back in a blink. And Bobbi… well, it’s her first day. And she’s been through hell to get here.” Phil trailed off and May shook her head in disgust.

“It drove me crazy to read those medical notes Vic gave us. The doctors had to operate on her _lung_ after what that monster did to her. And the number of healed fractures they found when they x-rayed her other injuries? He’d been torturing her for years.”

“I forget sometimes just how evil the world can be,” said Phil, his voice barely above a murmur.

“That’s why it needs people like you,” May told him, leaning into his chest. “To balance the scales for kids like them.” Her eyes began to grow heavy then, and she motioned for Phil to get the light. Her husband, her wonderful, big-hearted, sure and steady husband, reached over and flicked the lamp by their bed off, plunging the room into a gentle darkness.

It took only a few minutes before May had just nearly fallen asleep, the line between dream and reality growing hazy. She was jolted out of the fuzzy stupor suddenly, however, as a monumental crash shook the house and a cry of pain rang out. Like a flash, May sprang out of bed and yanked the bedroom door open. It took only seconds for her eyes to scan the hallway and take in the scene around her.

Sprawled near the bottom of the stairs was Bobbi, crutches askew and limbs akimbo. She was trembling, but otherwise unmoving, and May could hear a faint whimper crawling its way up the stairs to her ear. She descended the stairs with the kind of sharp efficiency she often reserved for her work and knelt beside Bobbi. Behind her, she could feel Phil following step for step.

“Bobbi, are you hurt? Can you sit up?” She tried to keep her voice low and level, swallowing down the panic that had clawed its way up her throat. Some parent she was, letting a girl on crutches try to navigate stairs on her first night in a new house. Stupid, rookie mistake, she thought. Bobbi didn’t say anything or make any attempts to get up. May saw Phil kneel down beside her and reach out a hand to Bobbi’s shoulder.

“Bobbi, are you all right?” he asked. The minute his hand touched her arm, Bobbi jerked away, folding in on herself. Phil pulled his hand back instantly and put several feet of distance between them.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quickly. Bobbi began to shake, and her hands found their way to her ears.

“Phil,” May murmured, “maybe you should go upstairs and check on Jemma and Skye.” She glanced up to the top of the stairs and spotted, as she had suspected she would, two small, pale faces peering down at the three of them. Skye looked concerned, and Jemma’s was positively pinched with worry.

“Good idea,” he said, making his way slowly back up the stairs. May watched as he herded Skye and Jemma back into their room and shut the door quietly behind them, then turned her attention back to Bobbi.

“Bobbi, love, it’s just you and me. Can you let me know if you’re okay?”

* * *

_Okay. Okay. Okay._ Bobbi’s whole body felt like it was on fire, like it had when she had first woken up in the hospital so many days ago. She had put off going up to the bathroom practically all day, mostly because she didn’t want to try and navigate the stairs on her crutches when other people were around to watch, but now she was regretting the decision immensely. She hadn’t realized how much harder using the crutches would be on the stairs, and she definitely hadn’t realized how much harder it would be in the dark. She had only made it up a few stairs when she had missed the next step with the crutch, sending her off balance and toppling down like sandbag. It was taking every ounce of her strength to stay still and quiet, one of her best defense strategies. He didn’t like it when she cried, when she was weak.

Her head pounded, and it felt like she was sliding back and forth between two worlds. The rational part of her brain knew that she was in the new house, with her new foster parents. People who had given her a bed and who didn’t make her cook dinner that night and who the kids had said were nice. But there was another part, a part she couldn’t make shut up, that was screaming for her to get away. Alarm bells ringing as loud as they could to signal that he was almost there, that she was in danger. When the foster dad, Phil, had spoken, it wasn’t his voice that she heard. It was her father’s. And he wasn’t apologizing.

“ _Bobbi? Can you hear me?_ ” He was shouting. He hated it when she didn’t listen to him. “ _Listen to the sound of my voice._ ” No, it wasn’t him. It was a woman’s voice. _Listen. Listen._ She screwed up her face and tried to concentrate.

“Bobbi, take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.” It was her. May. The woman who was the friend of the social worker. Her foster mother. _It’s going to be okay. Okay. Okay._ Bobbi wrenched her mouth open and took a shuddery breath. It made her chest ache, but it was suddenly much easier to focus. She could see the shadowy outlines of the furniture around her, feel the metal of a crutch wedged underneath her hip, hear the soft, slow voice of a person trying to help. Slowly, she began to uncurl herself, but she left her hands pressed against her ears. She had to keep shutting out his voice.

“That’s good, nice and slow,” May said. “Do you think you can sit up at all?” After a beat, Bobbi gave it a try. She rolled onto one side and propped herself up on an elbow, then eased upwards until she was sitting upright, her back against the wall. She wanted to pull her legs into her chest, but the brace on her knee wouldn’t allow it, so she settled for one. Her knee felt like it had been jammed with a thousand syringes full of lightning. Her next breath in got lodged in her throat and she had to choke back a sob.

“It’s okay to cry,” May assured her. “That was a nasty fall. I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain.” _Pain. So much pain._ But she couldn’t cry. Crying made it worse, made him angry. Bobbi shook her head and swallowed the tears that had been trying to sneak out.

“Can you tell me what happened?” asked May.

“I… slipped,” Bobbi said, after a long pause. Her voice came out flat, and she cringed in spite of herself. Her dad hated when she talked like a 'robot.' She couldn’t help it sometimes. “I was trying to go up and I slipped because I can’t work these stupid crutches.”

“I’m so sorry,” May told her. Bobbi scrunched her eyebrows together.

“Why? It’s not your fault, I’m the one who fell.”

“I should have made sure you were able to use the stairs earlier, should have left a light on for you. I didn’t think about your safety as much as I should have.”

“Oh.” Bobbi didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever apologized for not thinking of her safety before. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s really not your fault.”

“Are you hurt?”

Bobbi paused. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to make things worse for herself. She really just wanted to go to the bathroom and then go back to bed. She looked up and realized that May was still waiting on an answer. She had noticed before how both she and Phil had seemed patient when the other kids were talking, but was still surprised to receive the same treatment.

“I’m… okay. I don’t think anything’s messed up any more than it already was.” That was true. Aside from her knee, which still throbbed, the rest of her pain had subsided to a dull ache. A pang of worry sliced into her heart when she considered the possibility that she might have wrecked her knee even further, and before she knew what she was saying, the confession spilled out of her. “My knee hurts.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s been long enough since your last dose of pain medicine, if you’d like to take some more.” Bobbi nodded, and May got to her feet. She disappeared momentarily, then emerged from the kitchen with a single white pill in her hand.

“Can I help you stand up?” May asked. Bobbi nodded again, and May reached out, placing Bobbi’s arm around her shoulder and using her other arm to guide Bobbi back to her feet.

“Watch out that you don’t put any weight on that knee,” May reminded her. Steadying herself against the wall, Bobbi teetered in place until May had replaced the crutches in her hands. Once she was stable and standing, May handed her the pill.

“Water?” May was already halfway to the kitchen when she asked the question, and was halfway back with a glass in hand by the time Bobbi had said “yes, please.” Bobbi was learning quickly that May wasn’t one to dawdle.

Once Bobbi had swallowed the medicine and the glass had been deposited in the sink, May turned her attention to the stairs.

“Ready to give these a try?” Bobbi chewed on her bottom lip. On the one hand, she knew she needed to make it up there sooner rather than later, but on the other… the stairs suddenly seemed much more insurmountable than they had in the dark. She shifted her weight back and forth and drummed nervously on the grip of her crutch, then offered a noncommittal shrug. May pursed her lips.

“I won’t make you go up them if you really don’t want to, but I think it’s a good idea to tackle them sooner rather than later. If you wait, they might build up.”

“They aren’t going to get taller…” Bobbi said uncertainly.

“No, I meant metaphorically. If you wait, the mental block against climbing them will get harder to overcome. They’ll get scarier if you put it off.”

“Oh.” It was unsettling how May seemed to know exactly what was zipping through Bobbi’s mind. Bobbi rocked again, weighing her options.

“I can help you,” May offered. “You don’t have to do it alone.” Making up her mind, Bobbi set her jaw and steeled her gaze. She locked her eyes on the stairs.

“Okay.”

The journey upstairs didn’t take as long as Bobbi had thought, but it was certainly arduous. Her arms were still sore from the fall, and her muscles grew tired about halfway up. She was frustrated with her knee, which dragged behind her like useless, dead weight. May was patient, and waited on every step with her, a delicate hand resting with a feather touch on her upper arm. She was there only to steady Bobbi if she needed it, but Bobbi was determined to make it to the top of her own volition. Still, the comfort of a nearby hand helped to ease any trepidation and fuel her drive upwards.

When she finally reached the second floor, she slumped slightly against the wall, fully worn out but triumphant, nevertheless. May was smiling, a proud smile that Bobbi had seen only a few times before, usually from soccer coaches or the occasional teacher. Never before had that pride felt quite so personal. She blinked back tears and ducked into the bathroom before May could see how choked up she felt.

May was still waiting in the hallway when Bobbi reemerged a few minutes later.

“I thought it might be good to help with the return trip, too,” she said. Bobbi gave her a nod, and they set to work scaling back down the stairs. While it was logistically a little more complicated, it wasn’t as much work as going up, and before long Bobbi was back where she had started.

“Nicely done,” May said. She seemed genuinely congratulatory, and Bobbi couldn’t help but stand up a little straighter. “I think I’m going to head to bed, unless there’s anything else you need tonight?”

Bobbi shook her head and began to thump her way back to the den. She paused briefly, and turned back to May, stopping her before she vanished back upstairs.

“Um, thanks. For helping me, I mean.”

May smiled. “Anytime, Bobbi. I meant it when I said you don’t have to do it alone. You never have to do anything alone, unless you want to. Not in this house, at least. I hope you know that.” And with that, they parted ways and drifted off to bed.


	19. Bittersweet

“What happened?”

“Is Bobbi going to be all right?” Skye and Jemma spoke simultaneously the second Phil stepped into their bedroom and eased the door shut behind him. He smiled, but Skye could tell there was some sadness in his eyes.

“I think she’ll be okay. She had a hard fall, but May’s with her. I think she’s mostly just scared right now.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought. Skye had an overwhelming urge to take his hand the way she had that afternoon, but something stopped her. Stifling a yawn, she went and sat next to Jemma, who was tapping lightly on her bedpost, and took her unoccupied hand instead. Spotting her failed attempt at masking her tiredness, Phil snapped out of his reverie and clapped his hands together softly.

“I’m supposed to be getting you two back in bed,” he said, giving his head a shake. “It’s way too late for any of us to still be awake.” Neither Skye nor Jemma made any move towards getting back in bed, however. Jemma’s brow was still creased with worry and her fingers still drummed on the bedpost, and Skye wasn’t about to move away from her while she was still so fretful.

“She’ll have to make sure she didn’t damage any of the cartilage or tendons,” Jemma said, almost to herself. “The structure of the knee is flimsy at best, and with it already being in a compromised state…”

“Hey,” Phil said quietly, interrupting her rambling with a gentleness that let her know he wasn’t brushing her concerns off, but that he wasn’t going to let her get carried away either. “I promise, everything will be okay. May was planning on taking Bobbi to the doctor tomorrow anyway to set up her physical therapist appointments, so if anything is wrong, she’ll be well taken care of.” Jemma bit her lip, still grappling with her consternation, but gave Phil a small nod. A warm feeling seeped into Skye’s chest at the sight of Jemma’s trust, and at how deftly Phil had managed to assuage her.

“What do you say I read to you both a little bit, to help you fall asleep?” he asked, crossing over to the bookshelf and starting to peruse. Skye beamed and bounced back over to her own bed. She could definitely get used to regular reading from Phil. She looked back over to Jemma and was surprised to see her face puckered, not unlike the look she had worn earlier that day when Phil had read _The Giver_. Phil noticed the expression, too.

“Or not… I don’t have to read, if you don’t want me to, Jemma.” A pink flush crept onto Jemma’s cheeks, and she ducked her head. She stared at her hands, which were twisting back and forth in her lap.

“No, it’s not that,” she finally said, her voice unsteady. She took a shuddery breath and interlocked her fingers, then released them. “It’s just… the last people who read to me out loud were my mum and dad, and…” Her voice caught then, and she brought her hands to her face, pressing them gently into the sides of her neck. After another quaky breath, she continued. “I could read by myself by the time I was three, so most people thought I didn’t need to be read to. Mum and Dad loved books and stories, though, and they would still read to me even though I could do it myself. No one else has ever done it.”

“How does it make you feel, to have someone read to you?” Phil asked. Jemma was quiet for a while, but neither Skye nor Phil minded waiting for her to put her thoughts in order.

“It’s confusing,” came her eventual reply. “I like hearing stories, that makes me happy. But it also makes me think of Mum and Dad. That feels sad. It makes me miss how happy we used to be.” She paused, rifling through her extensive vocabulary to find the precise word to capture her complicated emotions. “There’s not a word that’s quite right for it. I thought maybe ambivalent, or agathokakological, but neither one really fits the way it feels…”

“That sounds very bittersweet, to me,” Phil said. “That’s the word I use to explain to Melinda how I feel sometimes. When I do things that remind me of my parents, like cooking my mother’s chicken soup recipe, or watching baseball on Sunday afternoons like I used to do with my dad. It can be pretty confusing for me, too. I have happy memories of those things, and I like to do them, but it’s hard to do those special things without the people you love nearby.”

“Are your parents gone, too, Phil?” Jemma asked quietly. Skye watched as a fat, shiny tear rolled down her friend’s cheek and plopped onto her knee, leaving a small, damp circle on the fabric of her new pajamas.

“Yes,” said Phil, almost as softly as Jemma. “They’ve been gone for a long time, but I still miss them every day. I don’t think we ever stop missing the people we love once they’re gone. We carry them in our hearts for the rest of our lives, but eventually, the happy memories start to outweigh the sad ones. You don’t forget the sad ones, of course, but they don’t stay as sharp as time goes on. They don’t hurt as much. And all those memories that you have, those things that you carry with you, they make you who you are. I can see all the ways that your parents are still with you, Jemma. Like how you love the stars and books and science, and how you care for other people. Those things that make you a wonderful person show me that you were made by some wonderful people, too.”

Phil had tears in his own eyes then, but he was still smiling – a watery, loving smile that made Skye’s heart ache. His words were so kind, and it was clear that they were what Jemma needed to hear, but the emptiness that Skye cradled in her own heart, the hole that she had felt for as long as she could remember, felt like it was only growing bigger. She didn’t know anything about where she came from, about the people who had made her. Instead she’d had strict nuns and angry foster parents. She couldn’t miss people she had never known or a life she had never had.

She swallowed her hurt down, though, when she saw Jemma get up from her bed and barrel into Phil, hugging him tightly around the waist. This wasn’t about her; it was about Jemma, and as much as what Phil had said had saddened Skye, it had been just the kind of comfort Jemma had needed.

Phil looked a little taken aback by Jemma’s sudden display of affection, but he quickly recovered and gave Jemma a gentle squeeze in return. The pair stayed like that for a while, no one saying a word or moving a muscle until Phil bent over and pressed his forehead lightly onto the top of Jemma’s head. It was a sweet, simple gesture, and Skye had never seen anything like it. Somehow, though, she knew that it was the kind of thing Jemma would love.

“There’s room for one more in here, Skye,” Phil said after a minute, stretching out one of his arms in an invitation. Skye hesitated. She didn’t want to interrupt what was clearly a special moment between Phil and Jemma, and she had never been good at handling affection with adults. On the other hand, however, there was something in the air that seemed to whisper to her that it would be okay. And, if she was being totally honest, it felt nice knowing that Phil didn’t want to leave her out.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Skye crossed the room and tucked herself into the crook of Phil’s outstretched arm. She gave him a short, sharp squeeze around the middle just as Phil’s embrace enveloped her and Jemma together. His arms were strong, but he was soft and warm, too, holding on gently enough to not hurt them or make them feel trapped but tight enough to make it seem like maybe, as long as they were in his arms like this, nothing bad would ever happen to them again.

The feeling was one of the nicest Skye had ever experienced, but it unsettled her, too. Her entire life she had been forced to learn over and over again that foster parents and foster homes weren’t there to make her feel safe. They were there to keep her on her toes, to sharpen her so that she could spot and handle all the crummy things that fate wanted to throw her way. Phil wasn’t like the others, that much she knew, but a wheedley voice at the back of her head scratched and nagged at her, telling her that she was going soft. _Get too comfortable, and you won’t be able to cut it anymore when this all gets taken away from you._

“Can I tell you girls something?” Phil asked, breaking the silence and hushing the nasty voice in Skye’s brain. He pulled out of the hug slightly so he could look both her and Jemma in the eye. Without hesitation, they both nodded. “You two are so remarkable. You helped me talk about something that was hard for me to say tonight, and you made me feel so much better. Thank you.” Skye felt her cheeks grow warm, and Jemma’s face flushed at the compliment.

“You made me feel better, too,” she told him. “Thank you.”

Phil smiled and gave Jemma’s shoulder a squeeze. “Anytime, Jemma. Every time. That’s what I’m here for. For you, and you, Skye, and everyone in this house. That’s what families do – they take care of each other.”

As much as Skye wanted the moment between the three of them to last forever, she couldn’t keep a yawn from escaping her – a yawn that Phil could have spotted from a mile away.

“Okay, bedtime for real this time. We all should be asleep right now.” He motioned for Skye and Jemma to clamber back into bed while he crouched in front of the bookcase, perusing his options.

“Do you think…” Jemma’s voice faltered, her question dying in her throat before she could force herself to ask. Immediately, Phil gave Jemma his full attention, waiting patiently for her to find the words.

“Do you think, instead of reading something, you could tell us about your parents?” she asked timorously. “Just for tonight.” She glanced over at Skye quickly to make sure the suggestion was all right with her, too, and Skye pumped her head up and down encouragingly. Phil’s face broke into a grin.

“I would love to.” He situated himself in the desk chair as Skye and Jemma nestled into their beds, eager to hear and fighting sleep.

“Let’s see,” Phil said. “My dad was a good man. One of the most hardworking men I think I’ve ever known. He cared about people. He was the football coach at the high school here, and he taught history, too. He’s the reason I’m a teacher now. He died in the spring of my sophomore year of high school, and almost everybody in the whole town came out for the funeral, it seemed like. People he had taught, or coached, or just helped in some way. It felt like everybody had a story about how he changed their life. That’s when I realized I wanted to be like him. To help people and have the kind of impact on my community that he did. I’m no football coach – baseball was always more my speed – but I teach, and I work with students, and I try to help them find the best in themselves. My dad did that for me.

“We didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, of course, but he always made sure I knew how much he loved me. We would watch baseball together, he would read me the Captain America comic strip from the paper every morning while we had breakfast. When I was old enough, he let me help him work on this old car he was fixing up, a red convertible. He called her Lola. He loved that car. We had to sell it when he got sick, to help pay for the treatments. My mom was so broken up about it, because she knew how much Lola meant to him, but he just kept saying ‘she’s just metal, Jules, my insides are more important than hers’ to try and cheer her up.

“My mom was the sweetest, kindest woman. She took it really hard after my dad died, but she always made sure I was okay, made sure to check in with me every night before bed. She was a great cook, and she taught me a lot of her best recipes, which you now have the honor of eating most nights. She showed me how important it is to choose kindness every day. She never hesitated to help anyone – a neighbor, a friend, someone she just met at the grocery store. I remember one time we were leaving the store one day, and this woman was sitting outside with her baby, asking people for change. And my mom just gave her our whole cart full of groceries, just like that, even though money was always kind of tight for us. I never saw the woman again, but that wasn’t the important thing for my mom. The important thing was knowing that she had the power to help someone and she made the choice to use that power instead of walking away. She was kind of like a superhero that way.”

Phil glanced over at Skye, whose eyes were getting impossibly heavy. Across the room, she could hear Jemma’s breathing, thick and even with sleep, and the sound lulled her.

“I think maybe we should call it a night,” he said quietly, standing up and making his way to the door. “Goodnight, Skye. Thanks for listening.” Skye didn’t answer; she had fallen asleep.


	20. Tactical Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for bullying, minor violence

The next morning wasn’t quite as hectic as Skye had thought it was going to be. Bobbi wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and May explained that the older girl was still asleep, since she didn’t need to be up early for school like the rest of them.

“We have an appointment with the physical therapist scheduled for ten this morning,” she told Phil over her mug of tea, while he bustled around the kitchen, munching on toast and gathering up loose papers and tests to shove in his satchel. “We should be done by lunchtime, so I was thinking we could swing by the school then, maybe meet you for lunch, and then get her registered for class right after.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, honey,” Phil said. “I’m not on lunch duty this week, and AV club doesn’t meet until—”

“Tuesday,” May supplied. She held up a folder that Phil had been looking for, and he smiled gratefully. Watching the two of them work off of each other felt like watching an elaborate tennis match to Skye, who was enjoying the entertainment that came with her cereal.

“Tuesday, right,” Phil said. “So I should be free to have lunch with my oldest gal and my newest one.”

“Watch yourself,” May warned, a playful look in her eye. “You almost called your wife old, there, mister.”

“I would never,” Phil assured her, leaning down to plant a peck on May’s cheek. “I’ll see you a little after 11:30, then?”

“It’s a date.”

Having gathered the last of his things and deposited plates and cereal bowls into the sink to be washed later, Phil turned to Skye and Jemma and flashed them an expectant grin.

“Are we ready to go?” he asked. Both girls nodded and moved towards the front door to collect their backpacks and shoes. May waved from the table and told them to have a great day. Skye and Jemma returned the wave before following Phil out to the car, and Skye hoped that May’s optimism about their day wouldn’t turn out to be misplaced. She had never cared a whole lot about school, especially compared to Jemma, mostly because it was easier to be thought of as a lazy slacker kid than a helplessly dumb one, but something about the confident steel in May’s eye made her want to do better, or at least to try.

* * *

It was well before the first bell when Phil dropped them off a few minutes later, and the outside of the school was teeming with kids. Some were hanging out in clusters on the stairs and several bunches scampered across the blacktop. A big clump of boys that Skye was beginning to recognize primarily as members of the football team, including Trip and Grant Ward, were playing a heated game of basketball, which she and Jemma steered clear of. They picked their way through the throngs to a plastic picnic table at the back corner of the blacktop. One of the seats of the table was half-melted, caused, Skye assumed, by either some intense sunlight or (more likely) a bored vandal with a penchant for fire and access to a lighter. The table wasn’t a particularly comfortable place to wait for the first bell, which signaled the time for them to go inside and make the trip to homeroom, but Fitz had told them last week that the melted table was “a prime location for a rendezvous,” which Jemma had later explained to Skye meant he wanted to meet up there.

Fitz was already waiting for them when they arrived. The autumn sun glinted in his wiry hair, making it almost look like a halo around him, but the look on his face was anything but angelic. He wore the same surly expression they had seen on him when they first met, in the office when he had been sent to the principal by Mr. DeRosa again.

“Hello, Fitz,” Jemma called, offering him a small wave and a smile. He lifted a hand halfheartedly, but his expression remained unchanged. Skye and Jemma drew level with him, and Skye plunked herself down next to him on the nonmelted part of the bench.

“What’s up? Why the long face?”

“It’s nothing. Just a disagreement with my cousin this morning, is all,” Fitz grumbled. He toed at the ground, the tip of his sneaker scraping across the blacktop, and Skye and Jemma waited patiently for him to elaborate. Instead, he changed tact. “How was your weekend? What did you think of the diagrams for Mr. Daniels’ class? Pretty elementary, if you ask me, but still a nice exercise to work out the orbital distances like that.” Jemma nodded and her eyes sparked with excitement at the mention of orbits, and Skye just raised her eyebrows at the pair of them. It was conversations like these that made her grateful to be in Computer Science and not Astronomy.

“We got a new foster sister yesterday,” she said. She tried to keep her tone casual, like it was no big deal, but Fitz perked up almost immediately.

“Really? Does it always happen that fast? What’s she like? Is she from the same place as you? Is she at school here?”

“Whoa, slow down there, light speed!” Skye held up her hands in surrender. “We’ll tell you about her if you tell us what’s really bothering you first. What did you and your cousin argue about?”

It was almost comical how quickly Fitz’s face puckered up again. It was like a seesaw with him, sometimes. He hunched his shoulders and scowled at the ground.

“He caught me doing something over the weekend that he doesn’t think I should be doing. He tried to lecture me about it when he drove me to school this morning. We got in a bit of a row about it.”

“What were you doing, Fitz?” Skye asked slyly. She cracked a playful grin and elbowed Fitz gently. “Making plans to build a giant rocket that’ll blow up half the neighborhood if it doesn’t launch the right way? Designing a monkey trap?”

“First of all,” Fitz said, a teasing smile crossing his own face, “if I were building a rocket, it wouldn’t have any issues with its launch, and even if it did, I would have calculated the potential damage and put contingencies in place to minimize destruction.”

“Obviously,” Skye smirked back. At the same time, Jemma offered a fully earnest “of course,” which Skye had to laugh at.

“And secondly,” continued Fitz, “it was nothing like that. It’s not even anything bad, really. He just caught me doing some of Ward’s algebra homework for him. He got all bent out of shape about and went on this whole speech about how I shouldn’t be answering to someone like Ward and all this nonsense. He’s only 16, but he acts like he’s trying to be my dad sometimes, and it’s completely irritating. He actually tried to convince me in the car this morning that I should stand up to Ward and stop doing his homework, if you can believe it.”

“Well, he’s right, isn’t he?” Skye was incredulous. “Why are you doing Ward’s homework for him? You’re way too smart to be doing lackey work like that. You’re ten times the person he is.” Fitz looked taken aback. Clearly he hadn’t expected Skye to take his cousin’s side.

“It’s not like I want to,” he spluttered. “I don’t enjoy seeing someone else take credit for my work. But it’s better than the alternative. I thought you’d understand. You know how Ward can be.”

“Yeah, which is why you can’t keep letting him walk all over you,” Skye shot back. “If you keep following his orders, he’s just going to keep thinking that he runs this stupid school.”

“He does, Skye,” Fitz said. He said it like he was explaining to a little kid that the ocean is wet. “Him and all those people he hangs out with. The football team and all that. Doing his homework is purely an arrangement of survival. It’s worked for years now.”

“You’ve been doing it for years?” asked Jemma softly. She had a heaviness in her eyes, a sad, defeated look that Skye had seen anytime they talked about their bad foster homes or jerks at school. Her fingers were fluttery, starting to drum on the top of the picnic table.

“Since the fifth grade, if you must know.” Fitz was starting to look genuinely upset with them. He raked his finger through his hair as he struggled to find his words. “It’s… it’s more complicated than you and my cousin are making it seem.”

“Fitz, that’s…” Skye caught herself and took a breath. Fitz was obviously unhappy, and the way she was responding wasn’t helping. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to make you mad. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Will you explain it to us?” Jemma wanted to know. “Help us understand.”

“It started out as a more mutually beneficial arrangement,” Fitz said, drawing in his own deep breath. “We weren’t friends, exactly, but we were friendly. He just needed help from time to time, at first, and in exchange he would be nice to me, and he would keep the others from teasing me so much. The longer it went on, the more of the work I started doing, and the less friendly he started acting. Eventually it became strictly a business transaction. His good grades in exchange for me not getting my face smeared across the pavement or my head shoved in a toilet every day.”

“What a creep,” Skye muttered. She glared over in the direction of Ward and the other boys, who were still playing basketball.

“And it’s not like I haven’t tried renegotiating the terms of the arrangement before,” Fitz continued. “Once I tried telling him we should go back to the old way, of me just helping and him being my friend, but he didn’t like that very much. A few days later he and some of his football friends found me walking home from school and… anyway, I haven’t tried altering the deal since. And now my cousin picks me up every day, so I don’t have to worry about that.”

“Did he hurt you?” Skye asked. She was trying to keep her anger under control, but she felt her ears starting to get hot. As much as she didn’t like how slimy Ward had been in gym, she was going to hate him that much more if she found out he was also the kind of jerk who hit other kids.

“Not him, no. He just watched. Some of the other ones, Alex Braun and Ian Quinn and a few others from the team did most of the dirty work. Still, message received.” Fitz’s mouth was a tight line, and a muscle in his jaw twitched lightly. Skye opened her mouth to ask another question, but a soft hand on her arm stopped her. Jemma, always keeping her from crossing the line. Skye closed her mouth and nodded. Fitz, lost in his own thoughts, seemed not to notice the exchange.

“Fitz, I’m so sorry they did that to you. They’re jerks,” Skye said finally. She looked into his eyes hard to make sure he knew she meant it.

“It’s wrong, Fitz,” Jemma added. “You deserve better.” Fitz just shrugged, and Skye felt her heart twinge. There was something about his demeanor and the way he wasn’t meeting their eyes that reminded her of Jemma, even more so than usual.

“If doing Ward’s homework is what’s going to keep the peace and keep you from getting creamed, then you do what you have to do,” Skye told him. “If you decide you want to take your cousin’s advice and stand up to him, we’ll have your back.” She knew better than to include the third option of going to a teacher. That was the choice grownups always tried to convince you was the best one, but Skye knew firsthand that most adults weren’t nearly as helpful as they pretended to be, and kids like Grant Ward were exactly the kind of people that teachers always believed over kids like her, Fitz, or Jemma.

Fitz looked from her to Jemma, who was nodding beside her, before finally offering them both a smile and a word of thanks. All three sat in stillness for a moment, and Skye felt like her brain was recalibrating after the heavy conversation.

“So, what about your new sister?” Fitz asked, breaking the silence. “I held up my end of the bargain.”

“Her name’s Bobbi,” Jemma began. “She’s in high school. She’s got a brace on her leg because her knee was fractured.”

“That’s not good, the structure of the knee is flimsy at best,” Fitz piped.

“That’s exactly what I said last night!” exclaimed Jemma, a real smile lighting up her face for the first time that morning. Skye had to bite back a laugh. Not at Bobbi’s injured knee, of course, but at the astounding similarity between her two egg-headed friends. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said they shared the same single braincell, but she knew they were both far too intelligent for her to ever claim there was only one braincell between them.

“She’s from Two Rivers, I think,” Skye chimed in. “And we’re her first foster family, so she hasn’t been in the system with us before.”

“What’s she like?”

Skye paused, unsure of how to describe their new sister. She looked to Jemma for an assist, which Jemma seemed content to supply.

“She doesn’t talk very much,” she said thoughtfully, “but when she does, she seems like she might be nice. She told us about how she got to make things in a woodshop class at her old school.”

“Yeah, they’re these cool wooden sticks that she spins around like batons,” added Skye. “She got to use power tools and saws and stuff.”

“Wish we could use tools here,” Fitz muttered, almost to himself. Catching the girls’ looks of confusion, he clarified. “We don’t get shop classes until high school here. My cousin said there’s a whole workshop and even a club that builds robots. He said he would never join it because it’s for nerds and because his best friend hates robots, but I think it sounds amazing, plus who could ever hate a robot? They’re amazing. Just think about how cool it would be actually be one!”

“Having a computer for a brain doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” Skye mused. “At least I can understand computers.”

“Robots are unreliable and corruptible,” countered Jemma. “And the human brain is a biological marvel. You can’t even compare the two. Brains are always better than circuits and hardware.”

Fitz looked like he was about to respond with a passionate comeback, but he was interrupted by the tone of the first bell, which rang out across the schoolyard. Students began to migrate to the front doors of the school, the few teachers who had been supervising on yard duty starting to herd them all in.

“Looks like we’re going to have to settle this at lunch,” Skye said with a shrug, standing up from the table and shouldering her backpack. While Fitz looked a little put out that he couldn’t continue their robot conversation, Skye was pleased to see that he seemed to be in an astronomically better mood than the one they had found him in.

* * *

The inside of the school building was just as raucous as the blacktop had been, and it took some considerable effort for the three of them to elbow their way through the halls and to the relative refuge of Miss Hill’s homeroom. Skye was interested to see that their teacher was making her way around the classroom, setting slips of paper on each desk, rather than sitting in her usual chair as students trickled in.

“What do you think it is?” Skye asked over her shoulder as she, Jemma, and Fitz traipsed to their seats at the back.

“No idea,” said Jemma. “Reading it will probably help.”

Skye wheeled around and grinned. “Was that some sass I detected there?” Jemma blushed and shrugged, but Skye spotted a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Both girls began to laugh, and even Fitz seemed amused.

Skye felt the laughter drain out of her the instant she sat down and glanced at the slip of paper. She didn’t take the time to read the whole thing, but the words at the top were clear as day: Parent-Teacher Conferences.

“All right, settle down, settle down,” Miss Hill called as the last few stragglers came and sat down. “I’ve handed out reminder slips about Parent-Teacher conferences. Now that we’ve been in school for a little over a month, your teachers have gotten a chance to get to know you a little bit better as students. Make sure your parents –” She caught herself quickly and amended before continuing. “—or guardians get this paper. They’ll use it to request a time slot to meet with your teachers next week. They’ll also be getting email reminders, so don’t think you can get out of this by ‘forgetting’ your papers.” She said the last part like it was a joke, and a couple of kids actually laughed. Skye didn’t think it was funny at all. Conveniently forgetting the paper had been her plan exactly, because the last thing she wanted was May and Phil coming to school and talking to a bunch of her teachers. Not only had she barely gotten to know any of them, she could already picture the way the conversations were going to go. Foster parents had heard the same things from all of her teachers over the years, and she didn’t expect this time to be any different.

The bell rang, and everyone began to gather their things. Fitz wadded up his slip of paper and shoved it into his jeans pocket, and Skye had a feeling that a lot of Fitz’s papers got misplaced or forgotten about that way. She and Jemma were about to follow Fitz out the door to social studies when Miss Hill stopped them.

“Jemma, Skye, could I speak with the two of you for a minute before you leave?” Fitz watched them with a wary look on his face, but Jemma waved him on. Skye wished she could have flashed him a look of confidence, but she was feeling far too nervous about what Miss Hill wanted to talk about to fake any kind of assurance for him. Jemma’s breath hitched in her throat and Skye heard anxious tapping coming from Jemma’s pocket, so she figured Jemma must be as worried as she was.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m hoping your foster parents will still come to parent-teacher conferences,” Miss Hill said once all of the other kids were out of the room. As nervous as Skye felt, she did take a moment to appreciate the discretion that Miss Hill showed when it came to her and Jemma’s personal lives. “I know you haven’t been here as long as the other students, but I know the other teachers and I would like a chance to meet with them, just to talk about your progress so far and how you’re both settling into things here at MMS. Does that sound okay?”

Skye was so taken aback by what Miss Hill had said that all she could manage was a nod. Jemma, not surprisingly, offered a nonverbal confirmation as well, and Miss Hill looked pleased.

“Great,” she said. “I’ll be sure to look for those papers back this week, then, yes?” She finished with a smile, and Skye thought maybe she was messing around with them a little bit. Still, she wasn’t about to take any chances with parent-teacher meetings so close, so she just nodded again dutifully.

“Good. I’ll see you in English this afternoon. Have a good morning, girls.”

* * *

The rest of the morning passed generally uneventfully, which was fine with Skye. She didn’t exactly love it when school was boring, but it was better than the negative alternative. In social studies, Mrs. Henry announced that they were starting a unit on ancient Egypt soon, and Skye figured that the famous mummy project Phil had told them about was on the horizon. When Mrs. Henry split the class up into pairs, Skye found herself matched up with Trip. While she would have preferred to be paired with Jemma or even Fitz, Trip seemed pleased to be her partner, and she figured he might not be so bad. Plus, she noticed that Jemma and Fitz had been put together, something that sent the two of them over the moon, so Skye was glad she hadn’t gotten in the way of that happy match.

“I heard about this project from some of the eighth graders I was on the football team with last year,” Trip told her, a gleam in his eye. “It’s supposed to be awesome.”

“Just so long as we don’t have to actually touch any dead stuff,” Skye responded. “Or do a bunch of boring research or something like that. If I have to read too many books, _I’m_ the one who feels mummified.” Trip laughed, and Skye found herself pleased that she had amused him.

“Come on, girl,” Trip teased. “History’s not _that_ bad. There’s some cool stories out there. I’m sure we can dig something interesting up.”

“A history buff _and_ a terrible pun? Don’t tell me that underneath the cool jock exterior you’re actually a secret dork, Trip,” Skye ribbed back. “You sound almost as bad as my… as Phil.”

“Who’s Phil? I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not…” Trip was still playing around, but Skye felt herself go on high alert. She wanted to kick herself for slipping up like that.

“Me and Jemma are living with him right now,” she said, avoiding the whole truth. “He’s a history teacher at the high school here.”

“Phil… Wait, you’re living with Mr. Coulson?” Trip asked excitedly. “That guy’s, like, a legend! All the older kids I know says he’s basically the best history teacher in the whole school, and that he’s really cool and relaxed and stuff like that.”

“People think Phil’s cool?” Skye was trying not to laugh. She really liked Phil, and he had been nothing but kind, plus he was funny and nice to be around, but she didn’t think she would ever describe him as “cool.” He made too many bad jokes and liked comic books way too much to be cool.

“That’s what I hear,” Trip shrugged. “I’ve never met him or anything, so I guess you’d know better, actually living with him. How come you get to stay with him? Is he like your uncle or something?”

“He’s…” Skye hesitated. She normally tried to avoid telling most people about her situation, but she thought about how things had turned out when Jemma had told Fitz the truth. He had taken the news remarkably well, and it seemed to strengthen his friendship with them rather than weaken it. Trip was a part of the football team with Grant Ward, but he had been nice so far. Plus, there was something charming about his smile that made him seem trustworthy. Skye sucked in a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

“He’s our foster dad. He’s taking care of us right now. Me and Jemma. People don’t really know about it, though, so please don’t go telling everybody, okay?”

“Hey, it’s your life,” Trip assured her. He gestured like he was locking his mouth up tight. “Your secret is safe with me. Thanks for trusting me.” He flashed her a huge smile then, and Skye couldn’t help but return it.

* * *

Unfortunately for Skye, her reasons to smile started to run out as the day wore on. The stuff they were supposed to be learning in pre-algebra still didn’t make any sense whatsoever, and Mr. Bennett had done that thing she hated where he called people up to the board to solve different problems in front of the class. She didn’t have a clue what to do when it was her turn, so she just stood up there looking stupid in front of everybody. Mr. Bennett had tried prompting her and had even said she could ask another kid for help, but Skye still didn’t know anybody else in the class, so there wasn’t anyone for her to ask. Eventually, she had just given up and stalked back to her seat, leaving the problem blank and blinking back tears. Mr. Bennett had tried to lecture her about not being a quitter or something stupid and cliched like that, but Skye couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her own ears.

She was in a truly terrible mood by the time she met back up with Jemma and Fitz in science, and her mood wasn’t helped by the fact that Mr. DeRosa sprung a pop quiz on them on all the DNA mumbo-jumbo he had been talking about for the past week. Fitz and Jemma zipped through the quiz, but Skye just stared blankly at the page, all the letters and words swirling around in a frustrating genetics-themed soup. She tried to focus on each word at a time, which sort of worked, except for the fact that she felt like she had forgotten every single thing she had ever heard Mr. DeRosa or Jemma say about DNA. She was so desperate to get the stupid thing over with that she ended up just randomly circling multiple choice answers without even bothering to try and get them right.

She felt kind of guilty about it, because she knew she wasn’t giving it her best effort, but she figured there was at least a chance that she might end up with a few correct answers. Of course, she was too hopeless at math to figure what that percentage was, but she was sure Jemma would tell her if she asked later. She wasn’t so sure that she wanted to know.

Lunch wasn’t so bad, except that she noticed more acutely just how scrunched up and hunched over Fitz got when they had to walk past the table with Ward and all his football buddies. She had seen him do it before, but she had just figured that was maybe how Fitz acted in big groups of people. Jemma could be like that sometimes, so it hadn’t struck Skye as particularly odd. Now, though, knowing what she did about the relationship that Fitz and Ward had, watching Fitz shy away like a scared dog made tongues of anger flicker up inside her like fire. Interestingly, Ward seemed to glower at the three of them as they passed, the heat of his gaze burning into Fitz especially. She forced herself to keep moving and keep up with Fitz and Jemma. She was trying to respect the way that Fitz was choosing to handle the situation, and she didn’t think he would appreciate her picking a fight with Ward on his behalf.

The other two were eager to pick up their robot debate from earlier, but Skye’s heart wasn’t really in it, so she mostly listened as Fitz spluttered indignantly about the ability to manufacture perfection in robots and Jemma waxed on and on about _the_ _inherent beauty of brains as naturally created machines that worked in spite of their flaws_. Skye forgot sometimes how poetic Jemma could be if she wanted to. It was so rare that she found something to be passionate enough about, but Fitz seemed to coax it out of her more naturally than anyone else Skye had ever seen. The pair of them talked so continuously it was a wonder either of them managed to eat anything before the lunch period ended, but somehow, they did.

* * *

The worst part of her whole day happened in gym class. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing about gym class or Coach Garrett had given her any reason to expect good things so far, plus there was the unpleasant addition of Grant Ward to deal with.

Apparently Coach Garrett wasn’t exactly in the mood for much teaching that day, because once they had finished their usual warm-up jog around the gym a few dozen times, he tipped an enormous basket of yellow foam balls into the middle of the court and grunted that today was going to be a free-for-all dodgeball day.

“And try to keep the noise to a minimum, pipsqueaks,” he growled around the whistle he had gripped in his teeth. “The lights are a little loud for old coach today.” Skye had lived with enough drunk foster parents to make the educated guess that Garrett wasn’t just suffering from a migraine. The coach made Ward and Fitz team captains and told them to do the picking themselves before slinking back towards a folding chair he had sitting in a back corner of the gym and pulling his baseball cap down low over his eyes.

When Ward heard who the other captain was supposed to be, a wolfish grin slithered across his smug face, and Skye instantly felt a sense of foreboding settle in her stomach like an anchor.

“Well, Dr. Dweeb, how’d you like to settle this? Old-fashioned or with a little more style?” Fitz’s whole face was red, and his eyes were boring into the floor. A muscle twitched in his jaw before he finally mumbled something incoherent. Apparently Ward had been able to hear him, however, because the hungry look on his face intensified as Fitz spoke.

“Whatever I want? That’s so generous of you, Fitz. I’ll take you up on that.” In a flash, Ward had split up the teams himself, dividing them into generally the same groups that Coach Garrett tended towards, with all the athletic-looking kids on one side and the leftovers clumped around Fitz looking fearful for their health.

Skye happened to look over at Trip, who had been added to Ward’s side, and he offered her a sympathetic shrug.

“Count of three, then anything goes,” Ward crowed, kicking some of the balls around so that they spread amongst the rest of the kids. “Three!”

Before Skye could even register what was happening, Ward had scooped up about four balls at once and whipped them as hard as he could in Fitz’s direction. They pummeled him in the face and stomach in rapid succession, each one making a muffled thwapping sound as it collided with his body. The force of the impacts caused Fitz to reel backwards and stumble over his own feet, sending him sprawling out on the gym floor. Ward laughed harshly, and some of his teammates joined him.

“Aw, captain’s out first. That’s too bad.”

“What was that for?” Skye demanded. She marched up to Ward and glared at him. He laughed again and tisked, wagging his finger back and forth in a frighteningly accurate imitation of Sister Margaret.

“Uh-uh, Skye, you’re not supposed to cross the center line. Unless you’ve decided to jump ship with those losers and join a winning team.”

“I’d rather jump off a cliff,” she sneered, taking a step closer to him. Ward held his ground.

“Look, Skye, Fitz just needed a little reminding of something that he’d forgotten this morning in algebra. I was just trying to help him out.” Skye swiveled her head around to look back at Fitz, who was being helped to his feet by Jemma.

“I told you, it was an honest mistake,” Fitz wheezed. One of Ward’s dodgeballs seemed to have knocked the wind out of him. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Ward said, a smirk crossing his face. “Isn’t it great how well my reminder worked, Fitz?” He paused for a minute, looking around to make sure he had the attention of the entire class. “Now can we play, or what?”

The next few minutes were just a few steps down from torture, as far as Skye was concerned. She was preoccupied with not only making sure she herself didn’t get creamed by any of the flying foam that was zipping past her but also with trying to keep Jemma from getting hurt, too. Skye was reasonably nimble and was managing to evade the dodgeballs with some success. One particularly vicious throw from Ward came dangerously close to Jemma’s head, but Skye deflected it with another ball in her hand. Trip seemed to have noticed what Skye was up to, and when he tossed a ball in Jemma’s direction, it was a much gentler throw. Skye opted not to deflect that one, and the ball bounced harmlessly off of Jemma’s hip, rendering her out and allowing her to go and sit on the sidelines with Fitz, who was still clutching his side, until the game was over. Skye gave Trip a nod of thanks, which he returned with the flash of a smile.

It was only a few minutes later when Skye herself got out, after Ward beaned her in the face with a fastball. Her nose stung where the ball had smashed into her, but it didn’t sting nearly as much as watching Ward cackle at her as she traipsed off towards Jemma and Fitz on the sidelines. She swallowed the fury bubbling up in her throat when she saw the concerned faces of her friends watching her walk their way.

“Are you all right?” Jemma asked, brushing her fingertips across the bridge of Skye’s nose, which felt tender and was probably turning red.

“I’m fine,” Skye told her, resisting the urge to brush Jemma’s hand away. “Fitz, what’s going on? What was Ward talking about when the game started?”

“He’s upset because the last homework I gave him came back today in algebra and I accidentally got a couple of the questions wrong. He thinks I did it on purpose to mess him up, but really I just mixed up where the answers were supposed to go. The math itself is all correct, not that he would pay any attention to that.”

“So what? It’s just a couple points off, isn’t it?”

“That’s not how he likes it. That’s not our deal. He expects straight A’s. Or his parents do, I don’t really know. All I do know is he doesn’t like it when I lose him points, and if he thinks I’m messing with him, then he messes with me back until I stop making mistakes.”

“Fitz, that’s practically barbaric,” lamented Jemma. “You can’t keep letting him hurt you like this.”

“She’s right,” Skye agreed. “You can’t let him push you around. You’re too good for this.”

“I don’t exactly have any other options at the moment, do I?” Fitz said grouchily, his scowl returning. “Please, will you both just let it go? I’m managing the best I can, all right?”

“Hey losers,” came the snide call of Ward from the other side of the gym. “Game’s over, we’re restarting. Get back out here for round two.” When none of them made any sudden movements to get up and return to the court, Ward grabbed a ball and launched it in their direction as hard as he could. The ball steaked over to them, guided by Ward’s deadly aim, and before any of them had a chance to react, the ball went careening into Fitz’s face. He was caught off guard, and the force of the throw knocked him off balance, snapping his head backwards and sending him to the floor again. There was a sickening thud as he hit the ground, and Skye’s vision went red. Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet and tearing across the gym towards Ward and his friends, who were all cracking up at the sight of Fitz splayed on the floor, massaging his head.

“What is wrong with you?” Skye had to fight to keep her voice from shaking with anger. “He hasn’t done anything to you. Do you get some pathetic kind of satisfaction from hurting kids who can’t fight you back? ‘Cause that’s pretty cowardly, if you ask me.”

“He owes me,” Ward growled, closing the distance between the two of them and jabbing a finger in Skye’s chest. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out if, and you’ll think twice the next time you feel like calling me a coward.”

“Just calling it like I see them,” Skye heard herself saying. “Pretty sure that’s what you call a guy who fights people who don’t fight back.”

“You’re wrong,” spat Ward. His eyes looked venomous.

“Prove it then,” Skye said, jutting out her chin with as much defiance as she could muster. “Fight somebody who can fight back. Fight me.”

“I’m not fighting a freaking girl,” Ward sneered. “You’re not worth my time. Learn to mind your own business, Skye, or the next time I go after your pal Fitz, I won’t be using one of these.” As he said it, he chucked another dodgeball over towards Fitz, and it landed squarely below the beltline, causing Fitz to double over in pain. The football goons howled with laughter and Skye lunged at Ward, not caring that Fitz had asked her not to intervene, not caring about the whole heap of trouble she would get into for fighting. She was stopped by a pair of strong arms, which wrapped her up from behind and pulled her away from Ward and his friends.

“Skye, seriously, it’s not worth it,” came Trip’s voice, low in her ear.

“How can you let him get away with that crap?” Skye asked as Trip dragged her back towards Jemma and Fitz. “You’re just as bad as him if you don’t do anything to stop it.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” Trip retorted. “You go after Ward like that and your life will be over, girl. I’m doing you a favor.”

“And saving face with your friends, right?” Skye glared up at Trip. “You aren’t ever going to actually stand up to them or do anything about all the stuff they get away with, you’re just going to pretend like you’re a nice guy who’s friends with everyone while really—”

“Hey look,” Trip cut her off, a hard look on his face that Skye hadn’t seen before. “No offense, but you’re still the new kid here. You don’t have a clear beat on the way everything works around here, even if you think you do. I think you’re cool, and I am trying to be friends with you, but you have to understand that I’m working with a bigger picture here, okay?”

“What does that even mean?” Skye scoffed.

“I’m trying to be real with you right now, will you listen?” Trip pleaded. “There’s a way things work, and right now you’re upsetting the balance. I’m not saying the balance is the best way for things to be, but it keeps the peace, and that’s my main goal at the moment. So please, just trust me when I tell you that I’m on your side and that you’ve got to stay away from Ward right now.” Skye opened her mouth to shoot back yet another angry reply, but something in Trip’s expression stopped her short. There was something earnest in his gaze, something that drained the fight from her body and told her that the right thing to do was to let it go. She glanced over at Jemma, who looked petrified, and Fitz, who had that same scared dog look he’d worn in the cafeteria, and felt herself deflate even further. She had messed up, big time.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry,” she said, her voice small. “I’ll drop it, I really will. I’ll be good.” The last sentence slipped out of her before she could catch herself. Jemma’s eyes, filled with disbelief, swung over and locked onto Skye. She was just as surprised by Skye’s slip as Skye was herself. Trip looked puzzled, but thankfully chose to overlook the odd phrase.

“It’s not about being good, it’s about being smart,” he said. He tried to put the three of them at ease with a smile, but no one seemed especially comforted. “Ward’s got size, strength, and popularity on his side, so you all need to play the game smart if you want to stand a chance.”

“And you really think letting him walk all over us is the smartest move we can make right now?” There was no snark or malice in Skye’s question. The fear on her friends’ faces had humbled her too much for her to take anymore jabs at Trip.

“Consider it a tactical retreat,” Trip suggested. “I know you said history’s not really your thing, but it’s a strategy that’s worked out a few times before.” He smiled again, and this time, Skye managed to return it. “So you’re good?” he asked.

Skye nodded. “I’m good.”

“Great,” Trip said. “Because now I’ve got to go and smooth some things over with Ward and the guys. Hopefully I can keep World War III from breaking out on the blacktop.”

He jogged off then, leaving Skye, Jemma, and Fitz alone in their corner to collect themselves while he went back to chatting and joking with the football guys like nothing had happened. Gnawing guilt started to eat away at Skye’s insides as an uncomfortable silence settled over the three of them. She was too afraid to look at Fitz or at Jemma, for fear she would see just how disappointed in her they both were.

Eventually, she mustered the gumption to speak. Her voice was as small as she felt.

“Fitz, I’m so sorry.” A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed hard to clear it. “You told me not to get involved, and then I went and made things worse.”

“It’s okay, Skye,” Fitz said after a long pause. “It was just some dodgeballs. The likelihood of long-term injury is minimal.”

“It’s not just about that, and you know it,” said Skye. “I didn’t mean to, I promise, I wasn’t planning anything, I just… when I saw him ganging up on you like that, I… I lost control.”

“It could have happened to anyone,” Fitz comforted her. “Well, maybe not anyone. Most kids here don’t pay me enough attention to lose control on my behalf.” The half smile that crooked his mouth let Skye know that he was offering an olive branch, and she felt her shoulders slump with relief. She would never forgive herself if she cost Jemma a friend because she couldn’t control her stupid temper.

“I’ll do better,” Skye promised, taking a moment to cross her heart. “But I hope you know that we won’t hesitate to go to war for you.” Beside her, Jemma nodded emphatically.

“You’re our best friend here, Fitz,” she said softly. She stretched out a hand and touched his arm lightly. Fitz smiled at the gesture. Skye thought it might have been the first time she had seen Jemma touch him. “We’d go to the ends of the earth for you.”


	21. Welcome to Manitowoc High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief use of ableist language

Bobbi woke up feeling terrible, but it wasn’t her knee or her ribs that were bothering her. It was her nerves. Normally, she didn’t get nervous about most things. Stuff with her dad had been an obvious exception, but things like school and tests and soccer games usually didn’t rattle her. Everything was different here, though, and the prospect of her first day was turning her into a basket case.

Up until now, she hadn’t really had time to think about how new and different everything was going to be from this point on. The first day had been a whirlwind, with Miss Hand whisking her from the hospital to her house – her old house, now – to get her stuff to the Coulsons’ house, and with so many people to meet and get used to. The kids, Skye and Jemma, seemed okay. They asked a lot of questions, but she knew they didn’t mean any harm. They were trying to be friendly, at least, even if the smaller one, Jemma, seemed painfully shy. Bobbi had never been a big talker, she preferred to let her actions speak for themselves most of the time, but Jemma made her look like a chatterbox.

They also hadn’t ratted her out about her batons, at least as far she could tell. She had spent the whole day with May yesterday and the woman hadn’t said a word, so Bobbi figured they hadn’t told. It might not be a big deal to May and Phil that she had them, but there was no way to be sure. Miss Hand didn’t seem to mind when she had asked her for pens in the hospital and she didn’t say anything when Bobbi packed the batons in her duffel, but her dad had always hated her twirling. Said it made her look like a “flippy spaz.” Bobbi shook herself to stop his voice from ringing in her ears. She wasn’t going to be a spaz here if she could help it. She had gotten good at hiding things from grownups, her dad especially. She figured that would come in handy now that she was going to be moving from house to house and from parents to parents.

Her fingers twitched, and she took a steadying breath, trying to fight the urge to twirl. She wasn’t sure what time it was, and she didn’t want to chance someone walking in and catching her. Just because her new sisters thought her batons were cool didn’t mean May and Phil would.

They seemed nice, though, May and Phil. May had helped her up the stairs that first night, and was kind enough not to bring it up the next day. She hadn’t said anything about the fall, or about how Bobbi had flipped out at her and Phil when she thought he was her dad. In fact, most of the day yesterday May had let Bobbi take the lead on what they talked about, which had been a refreshing change of pace from the constant barrage of questioning that Bobbi felt like she had been enduring ever since she had landed in the hospital. They had talked about basic stuff, like what classes Bobbi might like to sign up for at the school and what Bobbi liked to eat for breakfast in the mornings, but May had also been fine with the quiet. Bobbi had appreciated that.

The doctor’s office had been a little different, since the doctor practically wanted to know everything there ever was to know about her. Most of the info he had wanted was pretty basic, so it wasn’t hard to relay it all, even if she was beyond tired of reciting the same things about herself and her life over and over again. When it had been time to talk about how she had gotten hurt she all of the sudden felt her voice fly away from her, but luckily May had read all of the paperwork from the hospital that Miss Hand had brought over, so she was able to fill in the gaps that Bobbi couldn’t.

Besides being a little too nosy for Bobbi’s taste, the doctor seemed okay though. He told her and May that he worked with a lot of kids who were athletes and that he had a good track record when it came to getting his patients back out on the field. That had cheered Bobbi up more than she wanted to admit. She hadn’t told May anything about all the anxiety that caused her stomach to curdle every time she thought about not being able to play soccer anymore, but something told her that May already knew. It was like the woman had a sixth sense or something.

They had gone over to the high school after that, to meet Phil. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about the previous night either, but Bobbi wasn’t sure if that was because he was being nice or if it was because he was too excited about lunch to comment on her late-night freak out. Apparently the restaurant they went to – some retro-looking diner that, admittedly, did have some seriously good blueberry pie – was one of his favorites. Their waitress had greeted him and May by name, so Bobbi figured they must be regulars.

There had been other things, too, like getting her class schedule worked out and taking a quick tour of the school building, and by the time she and May had returned to the Coulsons’ house, she was exhausted. She had disappeared into the den and propped her throbbing knee up the minute they cleared the front door, and May hadn’t seemed to mind. Maybe she could tell that Bobbi needed some space.

Still, in all the excitement, she hadn’t really had time to dwell on just how frightening the prospect of a new school was. She wasn’t even used to waking up in a different bed in a different house, and now all of the sudden she was expected to walk… to crutch, technically, into a brand new school full of new kids she had never met before. She had gone to school with the same people since she was five years old up until now. She had never had to worry about anything being new.

Her stomach flipped over like a pancake once again, and she eased herself up into a sitting position, careful not to jostle her knee or her ribs too much. Her ribs were actually feeling a lot better, just sore when she took too deep a breath, mostly, but she was still trying to be careful. That was one of the things the doctor had said yesterday: “no unnecessary exertion.”

Her fingers twitched again, and with a grimace, she gave in to the urge. She slid her batons out from under her pillow where she’d been stashing them. She knew herself well enough to know that nothing else would make her feel remotely better about the day she had ahead of her, and she figured it was worth the risk if it meant she could get rid of the queasy butterflies that were parading around in her gut.

Once she had calmed her nerves slightly, she wasted no time in making her bed, getting dressed, and tossing some basic supplies into her backpack before hauling herself down the hall to the kitchen, crutches thumping the whole way. May was sitting at the table with a mug in her hand, and Phil was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning,” May greeted her over the rim of the mug with a warm smile. “You’re up earlier than expected.”

“Oh.” Bobbi felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’m sorry, I can go back—”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” May assured her. “Phil’s upstairs waking Skye and Jemma up. I was going to come and get you up once he came down, but you beat me to it, that’s all.”

“Okay.” Bobbi eased herself into an empty chair that May had pulled out for her and accepted the empty bowl that was handed to her. She was filling it with cereal when Phil bustled into the kitchen, trying to walk and tie his tie at the same time.

“The girls are up,” he said as he joined May and Bobbi at the table. “They’ll be down soon. Skye seems to be in a much better mood than she was last night, so that’s a plus.” He filled his own bowl and took a bite before turning his attention on Bobbi fully.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice was chipper, and his eyes had that twinkly look in them that, in a weird way, reminded Bobbi of a cartoon Santa Claus. “How are you feeling?” _Feeling. Feeling._ How was she feeling? Jumbled up and kind of overwhelmed. She decided to stick with the physical and avoid the emotional.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Still sore, I guess, but a little less stiff than yesterday.”

“That’s good,” May nodded. “That was one of the things the physical therapist said we should be looking out for. You can take some medicine before school, if you want.” Bobbi nodded appreciatively. The pain meds did a good job of numbing the pain in her knee, and, if she was being honest, they did a good job of numbing some of the other things she was feeling, too.

“What about school?” Phil asked. “How are you feeling about that?” Bobbi suddenly became intensely interested in her cornflakes, jabbing her spoon in with a little more force than was probably necessary. She quirked her mouth to one side, trying to decide how much to say. Her dad usually tried to stay away from touchy-feely questions like that, and her old friends weren’t the type to ask how you were feeling, unless it was about an upcoming game or some random boy.

“Weird,” she settled. She hoped that would be enough for now. She wasn’t sure she knew how to elaborate.

“That’s understandable,” Phil said with a nod. “It’s not easy to start at a new school, especially when you’ve never done it before.”

“The first day is usually the hardest,” added May. “Everything seems less scary once you’ve already made it through the first time.”

“I’ll be there all day if you need anything,” said Phil. “And I know a bunch of nice kids who I could connect you with, if you’re interested.”

“That’s okay,” Bobbi said quickly. She hoped her voice hadn’t sounded too harsh. She didn’t intend for it to be mean, but she had enough sense to know that asking a teacher to set her up with friends on her first day was probably not the most auspicious way to start her career at Manitowoc High School.

“You’re probably right,” Phil chuckled. “I forgot for a second how precise high school politics can be. Seriously uncool for a teacher to stick you with a welcome buddy.” He laughed again, and this time May joined him. All Bobbi could offer was a weak smile.

The kitchen was soon filled with the hectic activity of Skye and Jemma, who took some of the attention off of Bobbi. Skye looked bleary-eyed, but wolfed down her breakfast, while Jemma picked at hers until Bobbi was sure the cereal had turned to mush. Jemma didn’t seem to mind, however, because she ate with much more haste afterwards. May chatted with the younger girls while they ate, asking what they had planned for the day and checking with Skye to make sure she had remembered to put her homework in her backpack, while Phil began popping from one side of the room to the other, gathering up his things and clearing the table.

“Oh, and you both made sure to get those parent-teacher forms Miss Hill wanted us to fill out?” May asked, giving Skye and Jemma a pointed look as she finished what was left of her tea. “Phil and I picked some times next week that were back-to-back so we could have both of your meetings on the same night.” Jemma nodded and Skye grumbled something that Bobbi couldn’t fully make out but seemed to be in the affirmative. Bobbi remembered how reluctant Skye had seemed when she slid the crumpled form across the table last night at dinner.

“Good girl,” said May, giving them both a smile that appeared to put them at ease. Jemma at least lost the deer in the headlights look she had been wearing, and Skye sat up a little straighter.

“We’re excited to meet your teachers,” Phil told them, clipping his bag shut and making his way towards the door. “I mean, I’ve already met most of them, of course, but I’m excited to meet them as a parent and not a coworker.” He glanced around and checked to make sure they had all finished eating before telling them to grab their things and meet him at the car. Skye and Jemma scampered off, leaving May and Bobbi alone once again.

“You’re going to do great today,” said May. Her face was straight and plain-looking – a serious face, but not a stern one. Just one of someone who believed what they were saying. “Be yourself, and don’t be afraid to ask for help. It’s a lot to take in all at once.” Bobbi nodded and felt herself clenching her jaw. Everything about the last few days had been a lot to take in. School was just one more thing to add to the list. May smiled then and made sure Bobbi had taken her meds before shooing her out the door and towards Phil and the car.

* * *

Phil dropped Skye and Jemma off at the middle school first, and they wasted no time in bounding off across the blacktop.

“I guess they must like their new school,” Bobbi said to herself. Phil, having heard her, smiled.

“It took them a few days. They were both really nervous at first. Neither one of them talked to me at all on the car ride over on that first day.” Bobbi had no trouble believing that Jemma had been silent before starting school, but she found herself feeling surprised to hear about Skye. “I think the biggest thing that helped them feel better was making a friend. Once you have that one person who you know you can talk to, things get a little easier.”

“I guess so,” mused Bobbi. She wondered if that was one of the reasons why her life back in Two Rivers had felt so out of control all the time. She hadn’t had anyone who she could talk to, really talk to, about the things that were going on in her life. Sometimes it had felt like every interaction she had with her classmates was all one big performance.

“So, I know it’s not exactly hip to hang out with your foster dad while you’re at school,” Phil said as he steered their car into the high school parking lot, “but if you’re interested, the AV club is meeting today at lunch. The kids there are really nice, and if you ask me, it beats navigating the cafeteria jungle. No pressure of course, just know you’re invited.”

“Thanks,” Bobbi said, and she really meant it. Lunch was always the hardest part of any day, since there weren’t the same clear objectives as there were in the classroom. She figured she could play it by ear, but knowing that there was someplace to fall back on served as a comfort.

“Well, school awaits,” Phil announced, shutting the car off and grabbing his satchel. “Do you need any help getting in?” Bobbi shook her head and began the process of extracting herself and her crutches from the car. Phil, to his credit, let her work her way out on her own, and didn’t stand too close to her as they headed into the building together.

For as much as Bobbi had been worried about the newness of her new school, there wasn’t really a lot to differentiate the halls of Manitowoc High from her old school in Two Rivers. Same linoleum floors, although these had beige tiles instead of white, same walls of lockers, same hordes of kids flooding the halls like enormous schools of fish traveling through a stream. There were more trophies in the case in the front hall, and a number of boys who were actually wearing letterman jackets. Kids in Two Rivers didn’t wear those kinds of jackets, even if they had varsity letters. She had honestly thought letterman jackets were something you only really saw in movies, but here she was surrounded by a whole pack of beefy-looking jocks all wearing the same red and black jackets. So that was new.

A few kids gave her an odd look as she propelled herself down the hall, crutches clacking against the tiles, but no one seemed interested enough to actually make a comment. She had made sure to put on long sleeves when she got dressed that morning, so no one could notice the bruises that still spotted up and down her arms at least.

Finding a relatively calm alcove, Bobbi ducked inside and propped herself up against the wall so she could dig in her pocket for the paper schedule that the secretary had printed out for her yesterday.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” came a deep voice from the shadows behind her. The blood in her veins turned to ice and she whirled around wildly, searching for the person who had spoken. Without thinking, she swung one of her crutches in a wide arc, and it didn’t take long for the metal to collide with something, making a dull _thwump_. The thing she had hit made a grunt of pain, and she realized it was a person.

“Whoa, that’s some serious hardware you’re rocking there.” A boy stepped into the light, massaging his hip, where apparently Bobbi had struck him. He was tall, one of the tallest high schoolers Bobbi had ever seen, and nearly as broad. He had dark skin, solid, wide shoulders, big, strong-looking hands, and, thankfully, was wearing a smile despite the fact that Bobbi had just attacked him for no reason.

“I’m so sorry,” Bobbi spluttered, lowering her crutch back to the ground and teetering closer to him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’d take more than a little swing like that to do any real damage,” the boy assured her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve got quite an arm, but it’s all good. I shouldn’t have startled you.” He paused, then extended his hand. “My name’s Mack.”

Balancing carefully, Bobbi gave his hand a quick shake before introducing herself. “I’m Bobbi. I’m new.”

“That’s what I figured,” the boy, Mack, said with a chuckle. “I’m pretty good with faces, and I thought I hadn’t seen yours before. You a sophomore too?”

“You’re a sophomore?” Bobbi asked incredulously. The kid was a whole head taller than her, and she wasn’t exactly short. She caught herself. “Sorry, you probably get that all the time.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” he admitted. “Perks of being the big guy. I won’t hold it against you, though.” He smiled again, and Bobbi felt her own face rearranging itself to match his expression. It was like she couldn’t help but return his friendly look, and she had Phil’s words about finding one friend and May’s about asking for help echoing in her head. She decided to take the plunge.

“Think you could help me find Ms. Diaz’s homeroom?” she asked, gesturing towards the paper in her other hand. “This place is a little bigger than my old school and it’s kind of a maze.”

“Definitely,” Mack said, stepping back out into the hubbub of the hallway. “I’m in there, too, actually. Your last name must start with something between an ‘L’ and a ‘Q’ if we’re in there together.”

“It’s an ‘M,’” said Bobbi as she followed behind him. Mack’s size meant that there was a much clearer path for her to travel on, as kids seemed to part around him in the hall.

“Last name buddies,” Mack called over his shoulder. Bobbi scrunched up her brow in confusion. Mack clarified. “Mackenzie. That’s my last name. Also an ‘M,’ so we’re, like, name buddies.”

“Oh.” Bobbi was quiet for a minute, focused on keeping up with Mack’s long strides. It wasn’t until they arrived at Ms. Diaz’s classroom and Mack led her to an empty stool at a lab table before she spoke again.

“Thanks for the help,” she told him, lowering herself onto the stool and leaning her crutches up against the edge of the table.

“No problem.” He took the seat next to her without missing a beat, and Bobbi was surprised at how pleased she found herself feeling that Mack didn’t seem interested in dumping her right away. “What classes do you have today?”

Bobbi pushed her schedule over towards him, and he glanced over it briefly.

“Not too bad,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “You’ll be back in here for bio later on this morning, Mrs. Diaz is cool… Watch out for Mrs. Hampton in English, she’s a tough grader.” He paused, cocking his head to one side slightly. “Wow, you must have a thing for languages. You’ve got advanced Spanish _and_ French on here. Are you multilingual or something?”

Bobbi shook her head and felt the corners of her mouth curl into an embarrassed sort of half-smile. “I just like languages. I took French and Spanish at my old school, and I was going to try and cross register with one of the UW branch campuses next year to try and start something like Mandarin or Russian, but now I go here, I guess, so I don’t know if I can do that anymore.” She clamped her mouth shut. She was rambling for some reason. Why was she rambling? Mack wasn’t going to care about how she had wanted to take Mandarin, and if she wasn’t careful, talking about moving could quickly turn into talking about her dad, which she did not want to do under any circumstances.

“A real smarty-pants, then,” Mack said. His eyes were bunched up in a happy look, so Bobbi figured he was doing the friendly kind of teasing, rather than making fun of her. “That’s cool. Everybody’s got to have their thing.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the morning announcements crackling over the intercom, and by Mrs. Diaz taking roll. She paused when she spotted Bobbi sitting next to Mack and took a moment to rifle through a couple of papers on her desk.

“You’re Morse?” the teacher asked, not unkindly.

Bobbi nodded. “Bobbi. With an ‘i’ not a ‘y,’” she explained. She wanted to make sure she said her own name before Mrs. Diaz felt the need to call out ‘Barbara’ instead. Luckily, Mrs. Diaz just made a small note on her sheet and smiled at her.

“Welcome to Manitowoc High.”

* * *

Bobbi and Mack parted ways after homeroom, although not before she had Mack point her in the direction of Mr. Gonzales’ Spanish class.

“I’ll see you later on,” he called as he started heading in the opposite direction. “We have history together in 4th period.” He didn’t disappear completely into the crowd after that, he was too tall to ever completely vanish, Bobbi figured, but the strong currents of students had pulled them far enough apart that Bobbi knew it was pointless to try and reply. Giving the handles of her crutches a quick squeeze as a way to steel her nerves, Bobbi plunged herself into the fray and thumped her way towards the classroom Mack had directed her to.

It took less time to find the room than Bobbi had expected, so she had a few minutes to take in the room before class started. It was a standard classroom, with some maps and flags hung up on the walls for decoration, and a spidery-looking plant resting on the windowsill. Most of the other students were lounging at their desks, scrolling through their phones or chatting with the other kids around them. If Bobbi had to guess, based on the disaffected looks on most of their faces, she would have said most of these kids were seniors. She felt her shoulders tense. She wasn’t intimidated by older kids, necessarily, but the prospect of being both the new kid and the youngest kid in the class made her senses feel like they were kicked into overdrive. She quickly decided that her best strategy would be to blend in and not draw attention, so she headed for an empty desk near the back.

The seat she chose was one removed from a lithe girl with bright red hair cut in a tousled bob. The girl was playing a game of hangman on a scrap of paper with a solidly built blonde guy who looked bored out of his mind. He had a serious cowlick, so the front of his hair stuck up at a funny angle. Whether or not the cowlick was intention styling or the result of forgetting to comb his hair that morning, Bobbi wasn’t sure.

Her plan to go unnoticed was immediately foiled by the red-headed girl, whose eyes instantly locked onto Bobbi as she tried to ease into her desk without knocking her crutches against too many things.

“Are you in this class?” the girl asked. Her tone was short, and her gaze was unwavering. An angry face? Or maybe just one looking for answers. Bobbi hoped it was the latter. She wasn’t interested in getting some senior girl mad at her before class had even started.

“I think so,” Bobbi told her. She tried to keep her own voice steady and to hold the other girl’s gaze. As nervous and out of place as she felt, there was no way she was going to cower to anyone. She had faced down girls twice the redhead’s size on the soccer field without a second thought. This was just another game. “This is Spanish with Mr. Gonzales, right?”

“Yeah.” The girl didn’t look convinced. “I’ve never seen you in here before, though.”

“I’m new,” Bobbi muttered. She didn’t offer any further explanation. Nothing about this girl so far had indicated to Bobbi that she deserved any more details than absolutely necessary.

“Oh,” the girl’s face immediately softened, and she leaned back in her seat. “Okay, cool. Welcome to Spanish, then. I’m Natasha.”

“Bobbi.”

“And this,” Natasha jabbed her thumb over her shoulder towards the blonde boy, who was still doodling away on the scrap of paper, “is Clint. Say hi, Clint.” The boy, Clint, didn’t move or acknowledge Natasha at all. Natasha rolled her eyes and flashed Bobbi a smile before turning to Clint. She flicked him on the shoulder, then made a gesture with her hand. She hooked her pointer finger and tapped it twice against the side of her head, right above her ear. Clint looked surprised for a split second before reaching up and fiddling with something in his ears.

“He forgets sometimes,” Natasha informed Bobbi, as if that explained everything. “Clinton, say hello to Bobbi. She’s new.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled. “Hi Bobbi, I’m Clint. Welcome to stop one on the Snoozefest Express.”

“Um, what?” Bobbi scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion. She had no idea what Clint was talking about.

“He’s just being a grouch because he thinks – incorrectly, I might add – that Spanish is a boring class. And because I made him turn on his hearing aids. Sometimes he can get away with leaving them off all class, so he doesn’t have to hear Gonzales talk, but when he does that, I end up having to go over everything with him later, so I try to make sure he remembers, for both of our sakes.”

“Oh.” Bobbi wasn’t sure what to do with the bundle of new information that Natasha had just dumped in her lap. Her brain latched on a piece that she felt like she could turn into decent small talk. “Is it? A boring class, I mean?”

“Painfully,” Clint said, crumpling up the hangman game and tossing the paper towards the garbage can. It went in without touching the side of the can at all. _Swish_.

“It depends on who you ask,” Natasha supplied, cutting Clint off. “Gonzales is a bit of a curmudgeon, but he knows his stuff, and everything that we learn is super practical. Plus, we get to read actual literature and stuff, not just grammar worksheets all the time like you get in the lower levels. If you actually care about learning Spanish, you won’t be bored.”

“I like languages,” Bobbi said for the second time that morning. Natasha smiled again.

“Then you’ll be fine.” _Fine. Fine. Fine._ For some reason, it was easy to believe Natasha, and Bobbi felt like things actually were going to be fine in this class.

“Are you both seniors?” asked Bobbi. She was curious if her assumption from earlier had been right. Natasha nodded.

“Yeah, what about you? It must be hard to move right at the start of senior year. Where’d you come from?”

“Oh, no, I’m not…” Bobbi paused, trying to backpedal and figure out how to answer multiple questions at once. “I’m a sophomore. I just moved here from Two Rivers.”

“Oh, wow, so you must really like languages, then.” Natasha looked impressed. “If you’re taking this class as a sophomore, I mean.” Bobbi just shrugged, unsure of how to respond.

Fortunately, she was saved from having to do so by the arrival of Mr. Gonzales. He was a portly Latino man with shiny grey hair and a droopy mustache. He looked grandfatherly, or at least, what Bobbi imagined someone who looked grandfatherly to be like. She had never met any of her own grandparents, since they had died before she was born. The most interesting thing about him, in Bobbi’s opinion, was the silver-handled cane that he walked with. He had a considerable limp, and the cane thumped slightly with each step he took, and Bobbi couldn’t help but be reminded of her own thumping steps on her crutches. He struck her as the kind of teacher with high standards and little time for people who messed around, and something about him filled her with a desire to exceed whatever expectations he might have of her.

“Saque sus libros y pase a la pagina 71,” he announced. His voice was gravelly and held little warmth, but Bobbi wasn’t bothered. She was more concerned that she didn’t have a book to take out like the rest of the class. She raised her hand. Mr. Gonzales noticed her then, and his bushy eyebrows crept up his forehead.

“Ah, new student,” he said. “No book?” Bobbi shook her head. He gestured towards a shelf near the door with his cane. “Puedes tomar uno.”

Bobbi began the process of clambering to her feet and arranging her crutches, but Mr. Gonzales noticed and help up a hand to stop her.

“Clint, tráeselo, por favor.” Clint looked up at their teacher blankly, until Natasha mumbled something to him out of the corner of her mouth. Once he had gotten the furtive translation assistance, he quickly retrieved the book and handed it over to Bobbi, flashing a big smile towards Mr. Gonzales.

“No problemo, señor,” he announced, his American accent still thick. Natasha was biting back a laugh and Mr. Gonzales just shook his head, but made no further comment.


	22. The AV Club

The rest of the Spanish class passed quickly, and Bobbi was pleased to discover that she had very little catching up to do to keep up with the other kids. About half of the class was, like Clint, both checked out and not especially interested in the language, but the rest seemed to take it seriously. Natasha was clearly one of the more successful students in the room, and Bobbi decided stoutly that she was going to be just as good as her by the end of the semester.

She trekked back to Mrs. Diaz’s room for biology afterwards, and was disappointed to see that the stool she had occupied in homeroom was already filled by a scruffy-looking white boy the time she arrived. The boy was slumped over onto the lab table, and Bobbi wasn’t sure if he was awake or not, so she opted for another stool closer to the front of the room.

Mrs. Diaz was an engaging teacher, and even though the class seemed to be in the middle of a unit on identifying and classifying vascular plants, Bobbi found herself interested in the material. Besides languages, biology was the other subject she liked best, although she had never learned much about plants before. Still, she was proud of herself for figuring out what gymnosperm and angiosperm both meant by the time the class had ended.

Geometry followed, which Bobbi enjoyed considerably less, and she was grateful when the class ended and she could stop trying to keep track of all the triangles that had been swimming across the whiteboard. She was even more grateful when she realized she had American History next, which meant she would get to see both Mack and Phil. It was sort of silly to think of either of them as “familiar faces,” since she had only known Phil a few days and had only known Mack a few hours, but she was content to take the small victory.

Phil was waiting outside his classroom door when she arrived, and he was greeting students by name as they strolled into his class. He was already smiling, but his face broke into an even bigger grin when he saw Bobbi lurching down the hall towards him.

“Hi Bobbi,” he said as she drew near. “How’s your first day going so far?” _So far..._ Bobbi chewed on her bottom lip, trying to decide how best to assess her day. She settled on a noncommittal “okay.”

Her day actually hadn’t been too bad, but still, there was a lot of new information to take in, plus countless people she didn’t know jostling around her all the time. She had been getting more than her fair share of stares and gawking looks, probably from the crutches more than anything else, but most people hadn’t felt the need to say anything. Mack had been nice, and so had Natasha, and even Clint in his own, bizarre way, so she counted those as plusses, but her confidence had definitely taken a blow in geometry, so she counted that as a negative. Okay was going to have to do.

“Okay, good,” Phil said. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes changed. He looked sad, maybe. Or worried. “Well, come on in and get settled. We’re starting soon.”

Phil’s classroom had the usual array of posters and maps that she had expected from a history teacher, although not without some Phil-like flair. One of his posters was of Captain America in the Uncle Sam recruitment-style pose with his finger pointing out at the person looking at the poster. Captain America had a big speech bubble coming out of his mouth that said “I want YOU to study for American History!” She had to admit it was kind of funny.

From one side of the room, Mack waved to get her attention. On one side of him was an empty desk that looked as though he had saved it for her, and on the other was the boy Bobbi had seen asleep in her bio class earlier that morning. He only looked slightly more awake now than he had then.

“Bobbi, hey! Over here!” Mack called. Once she had joined him and settled into her seat, Mack wasted no time in making introductions.

“Bobbi, this is my buddy Lance Hunter. Hunter, this is Bobbi. She’s new here.” The scruffy boy gave her a quick look up and down. He had light brown hair cut short on the sides and slightly longer on the top. His sweatshirt had “Manitowoc Soccer” emblazoned across the front, and his expression didn’t appear to be all that impressed.

“Bobby?” he said, one eyebrow cocked high. “As in the name usually short for Robert?” He had an unusual accent, like a chimney sweep from _Mary Poppins_ or something.

“No, as in the name short for Barbara, which honestly, is worse,” she said with a grimace. To her surprise, the boy, Hunter, let out a sharp laugh.

“She’s got spunk! Where’d you find this girl, Mack?”

“In the hallway, after she hit me with her crutch,” Mack admitted. Hunter laughed again.

“Oh, that’s amazing! I like you already,” he said with a wink. “And I would tend to agree with you, Barbara _is_ worse than Robert.”

Bobbi was kept from further exploration of the mystifying Hunter and his odd sense of humor by the arrival of Phil, who looked excited to start class.

“That’s Mr. Coulson,” Mack murmured to her. “He’s awesome, you’re really going to like him.”

“Yeah, Phil’s all right,” Bobbi agreed before she could stop herself. She felt the blood drain from her face as soon as she heard herself say Phil’s name out loud. “I mean Mr. Coulson,” she said quickly. “I mean he seems all right.”

“Phil? Do you know him already or something?” Mack wanted to know. Beside him, Hunter was leaning over his own desk, craning to get a look at Bobbi’s face, which she was sure was going red.

“I, uh…” she spluttered. She hadn’t thought about how much she wanted to explain about her living situation to anyone yet. She honestly hadn’t thought she’d get this far on day one. Whether he knew it or not, Phil saved her by calling the class to attention.

Mack had been right, she did really like Phil as a teacher. The class was talking about the Articles of Confederation, and after he had lectured for a little bit, he had them break into small groups to talk about the pros and cons of the Articles of Confederation as a system of government.

“Talk it out for fifteen minutes in your groups,” he said as the class began to push their desks into clusters. “When we come back together we’ll have a class debate, so be ready to defend either side.” Judging by the excited looks on most of the kids’ faces, class debates were something people looked forward to.

Mack and Hunter shoved their desks closer to Bobbi’s and started talking almost immediately, although not about the Articles of Confederation.

“So how do you know Mr. C?” Mack asked.

“You called Coulson _Phil!_ ” Hunter cackled. “That’s almost as bad as calling a teacher mum.” Mack slugged Hunter softly in the arm.

“No way, calling a teacher mom is embarrassing. Calling Mr. C Phil just means she knows him in real life, which is awesome. How do you know him?” he asked again. _How did she know him? How did she know him?_ She knew how she knew him, obviously, but did she really want to tell two strangers about foster care and the circumstances that brought her to this point?

“He’s… my uncle.” The words flew out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. Bobbi wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow her whole right then and there. Normally she hated lying. She had kept her dad’s secrets for years, and the whole thing was so exhausting that she tried not to hide the truth about anything else, but here she was blurting out complete falsehoods without a moment’s hesitation.

Mack and Hunter’s jaws dropped.

“No way!”

“Mr. C’s your uncle? That’s so cool. He’s basically the best teacher in the whole school.”

Bobbi couldn’t believe what was happening. _Liar._ She was a big, fat liar, and she didn’t know how to set the record straight without looking like a complete fool in front of the two people who stood the best chance of becoming her new friends here. Her brain scrambled to find a way to at least interject something truthful into the whole situation, as a kind of peace offering to the universe for the deception she was creating.

“Yeah, I… live with him now. I just moved here to stay with Phil… uncle Phil… and his wife.”

“You get to live with him?” Mack was in total fanboy mode. He was practically glowing with excitement, which only made Bobbi feel worse.

“What’s he like at home?” Hunter wanted to know. “Is he in teacher mode at the dinner table? Or does he just laze around in his shorts in front of the tv?”

“Um, he’s… normal?” Bobbi said. She wasn’t really sure what Hunter was asking, or if he was even being serious or not.

“So how come you came to live with him?” Mack asked. Bobbi felt her throat tighten. This was exactly what she had been hoping to avoid. Her fingers twitched and it felt like someone had turned up the volume on the whole room. Without her batons to calm her down, she noticed her hands inching towards the handles of her crutches, which were propped up beside her. Almost without thinking, one of her hands wrapped around the grip and her fingers began to drum nervously on the rubber.

“My… my dad, he…” Bobbi tried to find the words. She wasn’t about to tell these two about what her dad had done to her, she just couldn’t, but she could at least invent some reason for why he couldn’t take care of her for now.

“Is it because of those?” asked Mack softly. _Those._ Her crutches. He had noticed her holding onto her crutch. At a loss, Bobbi nodded. Partial truth.

“What happened?” Hunter interrupted. He seemed not to have picked up on the sensitivity of the topic the way Mack had.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Mack said quickly. “It’s cool.” _Cool. Cool._ It was definitely not cool. But she felt like she had to say something, otherwise they would just start coming up with explanations of their own in their heads.

“Car accident,” she told them, her voice thicker than she had meant it to come out. She cleared her throat. “Busted up my knee. My dad…”

“Oh my god, he’s not…” Hunter’s face blanched. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, he’s alive,” Bobbi assured him. His expression returned to normal, although he looked a little embarrassed. “He just… he can’t take care of me right now, so I’m staying with Phil.”

“Gotcha,” Mack said, sending a gentle smile her way. “When my dad sprained his ankle at work, he ended up staying with a friend while it healed, because our house had too many stairs for him to get up and down on with his crutches. I mean, that was only for a couple of weeks, and we still got to see him, but it sounds kind of the same. Is your dad okay?”

“I guess so,” Bobbi shrugged. She had no idea how her dad was doing, if he was at home or in jail, if he was feeding himself and doing his own laundry. She was eager to move away from this topic of conversation and towards something infinitely safer. “Are we supposed to be talking about the Articles of Confederation or something?”

* * *

Phil pulled the class back together after a few more minutes, and had them arrange their desks into two long rows that faced each other. He assigned each side a position, either pro or con on the Articles, and then began the debate. Each side was given five minutes to present their cases and two minutes to respond to the other side’s argument, and Phil made sure that at least three people on each team got to speak in each round. Most of the class seemed to be deeply invested in the outcome of the debate, with a few kids scribbling furious notes to pass up to their speakers and the ones who talked becoming more and more passionate as the rounds went on.

Bobbi felt a little bewildered by the whole thing, and looked towards Mack and Hunter for a silent explanation. Mack was too engrossed in taking counterpoint notes on whatever the kid from the other team was saying to notice, but Hunter, who seemed to be only half-listening anyways, leaned over to whisper to her.

“We always pick the same teams for debate, so there’s a running win-loss record. People get very competitive in here.”

“Not you?” Bobbi wondered aloud. She had assumed that if he played soccer, he would have a competitive streak in him.

“For the right cause,” he grinned back. “The way I see it, my side already lost the war, so I’m not too invested in how the government shapes up afterwards.” Mack must have heard them whispering, because he muttered at them out of the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve lived in America for five years, dummy. Don’t you think it’s time to let the Revolutionary War go?”

“And let the Yanks revel in their victory even longer? Never.” Hunter’s eyes gleamed with impish amusement, and Bobbi realized she was starting to get a beat on his sarcasm. “Besides,” Hunter continued, “we both know for a fact that Carl Creel never has anything worthwhile to say.” He jutted his chin over to the boy who was speaking for the other team. He was one of the beefy, lettermen jacket wearing types Bobbi had spotted earlier, and his hair was buzzed down in an impossibly short, military-style cut.

“Total idiot,” Hunter informed her. “Even plays the wrong kind of football, if you can believe it.”

Phil cleared his throat then, and looked pointedly over at Bobbi and Hunter. Hunter held his hands up in surrender and leaned back into his own seat. He pantomimed zipping his mouth shut, and Phil just shook his head with a smile. Apparently, Hunter talking in class was a common occurrence.

Phil declared the debate completed with only a few minutes before the bell, and informed the class that the team on Carl Creel’s side of the room had been awarded the point. Mack scowled, and Hunter explained that the teams were tied again.

“Cheer up, mate. I’m sure there’ll be another one next week,” Hunter teased. “It’s a long school year.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mack flapped a hand, waving Hunter off. “Still, you’d think since the US decided not to go with the Articles that the ‘con’ side would deserve the win.” He shrugged then, and just like that he seemed to move on from the disappointment of the loss. “So, Bobbi, got any plans for lunch?”

“Not really,” she said. She wasn’t sure where Mack was going with the question, but she hoped it at least meant she could avoid braving the cafeteria alone.

“And how do you feel about movies?” Mack continued, a smile spreading across his face.

“Wait, don’t tell me you guys are in Phil’s AV club?”

“Of course! Why else do you think he’s our favorite teacher?” Hunter said. “Who else is going to let us watch movies at school?”

“We do other cool stuff, too,” protested Mack. “Sometimes we talk about video production, or we film stuff…”

“I’m just in it for the movies,” said Hunter. “Then again, I’m much cooler than Mack, so there’s that as well.”

Phil, who had been over near the door seeing students out, came over to where Bobbi, Mack, and Hunter were sitting, a huge smile on his face.

“Hey guys, ready for AV Club? Bobbi, are you joining us?” Bobbi only paused for a second before nodding resolutely. The three of them had won her over. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but Phil’s smile grew even bigger.

“Fantastic! I’m so glad the three of you connected,” he added. “These two can be a little… rambunctious at times, but they’re good company. I was hoping you all would get along.”

“Mr. C, it’s so cool that you get to have your niece stay with you,” Mack said. Bobbi felt an anchor crash into the pit of her stomach. “Bobbi was just telling us about how she’s living here for a while until she and her dad get better.” Her whole concocted story was about to blow up in her face. Phil was going to tell them the truth and then Mack and Hunter wouldn’t want anything to do with her. She felt the corners of her eyes start to sting, and she looked up towards Phil, preparing herself for the worst.

To her surprise, Phil didn’t immediately say anything. His smile flickered slightly, and she noticed how his eyes changed from happy to confused to sad before going back to their normal look all in the space of a few seconds. He was staring at her, and she blinked hard a couple of times to clear any tears that were lurking in her eyes. She didn’t want Phil to think any worse of her than he probably already did.

“Yeah, well, Bobbi’s a great kid. We were happy to help her out, under the circumstances. She’s an important part of our family,” Phil said. Bobbi had to force her face not to betray how utterly agape she was feeling. Phil hadn’t lied, exactly, but he hadn’t said anything about the cockamamie story that had just come out of Mack’s mouth. Was he not going to rat her out? What was going on?

“You mind helping me set up the desks, guys?” Phil asked Mack and Hunter. The nodded and began the work of moving the desks around into what Bobbi assumed was prime movie-watching position. “The Koenigs are all out sick today, so we’ll have a few less than usual,” Phil told them as he pulled down the projector screen in front of his whiteboard.

A few kids started to trickle in then, and Phil made sure to introduce each of them to Bobbi as they joined the group. There was Trevor, a lanky South Asian guy, and Piper and Davis, a white girl and boy who came in together. Piper had short brown hair and a tough look in her eyes and Davis wore his brown hair slicked back. He was big and looked like he might be kind of klutzy. If Bobbi had been playing soccer against him, she definitely would have been working to keep him off balance.

The next two to come in were Natasha and Clint from her Spanish class, and Bobbi felt herself taken totally off-guard by their arrival. She would not have pegged either one of them as a film buff, but they were both greeted warmly by Phil and the rest of the club, so she supposed they must be regulars.

The last kid to show up was a short Latina girl who Phil introduced as Elena. She had long brown hair that she wore with the front pieces pulled back in little braids and cunning eyes. She looked like the kind of person who was always thinking about something, Bobbi thought. She also seemed like she might be a little younger than everyone else, maybe a freshman. She smiled at Bobbi, but otherwise stayed pretty quiet as the club settled into their seats and Phil fired up the projector. Bobbi noticed that Mack kept his eyes on Elena, but when he realized Bobbi was watching him, he looked away quickly and started a conversation with Clint, who had come over with Natasha to sit next to him, Hunter, and Bobbi.

“AV club, huh?” Bobbi glanced up to see Natasha smiling at her. Bobbi shrugged and offered a sheepish smile of her own.

“I met Mack and Hunter earlier and they kind of talked me into it,” she explained, and Natasha chuckled.

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I happen to have some very persuasive friends.”

“So I guess you all know each other, then?” asked Bobbi. She wanted to try and keep everyone straight in her head.

“Yeah. Clint plays soccer with Mack and that knucklehead,” Natasha gestured towards Hunter, “so we first met through that, but then we really all got to know each other doing AV last year. I wasn’t really into it at first, but Clint loves movies, and Mr. Coulson’s a cool guy, so I figured it was worth a try.”

Mack, overhearing Natasha and Bobbi’s conversation, perked up. “Did you know that Mr. C is Bobbi’s uncle?” he asked excitedly. “That’s why she moved here.” Bobbi felt her face flush. Why did he have to tell them that? Now her lie was spreading to even more people right before her eyes, and she didn’t even have anything to do with it this time.

“That’s cool,” Natasha said. Something in the way she looked at Bobbi made her feel like she had been knocked totally off-kilter. Like she was trying to stand up straight on the side of steep hill, but she just kept keeling to one side. Bobbi looked away. She couldn’t risk anything in her face giving her away after Phil had just covered for her a few minutes ago.

“Totally cool,” Clint added. “Coulson’s like, one of our favorite teachers. I actually made sure I could hear when I was in his class.” It took Bobbi a second to realize he was joking, but soon everyone was laughing along with him and she joined weakly.

A few minutes later, Phil had pulled up the movie and lowered the lights. The group was part of the way through some cheesy 80s flick about killer robots in a mall, and everyone seemed to be really into it, despite its dated special effects and corny dialogue. Bobbi found herself growing more captivated as the movie went on, and Hunter’s nearly constant stream of commentary had her actually laughing on more than one occasion.

“The robots are completely useless,” he crowed, as one of the main characters managed to trick a robot into zapping one of its friends.

“Hey man, robots are no joke,” Mack said seriously. “AI cannot be trusted.”

“Plus the robots have already killed, like, eight people,” Elena chimed in. Bobbi was surprised at how husky her voice sounded. Mack gave Elena an appreciative look.

“See, Elena knows what’s up,” he said. “She understands the severity of the robot apocalypse.”

“It’s three security bots in a mall, I’d hardly call that an apocalypse,” Hunter countered. “And they look like discount WALL-Es. Not exactly intimidating.” Clint and Natasha cracked up at that, and even Bobbi had to laugh. Mack shushed them all and muttered something about how none of them appreciated the artistry, which made Hunter, Natasha, and Clint start laughing all over again.

* * *

The movie ended with just a few minutes left before the bell that signaled the end of lunch, giving them all enough time to throw out their trash and put Phil’s classroom back in order.

“Know where you’re heading next?” Phil asked Bobbi as she got to her feet and started making her way to the door. She nodded.

“French with Mrs. Duvall. I think her room is a few down from where I had Spanish earlier.”

“Okay, great. Well, just meet me back here at the end of the day, and then we can head over to the middle school to grab Skye and Jemma and then we’ll go home and call it a day. Sound good?”

“You’ve got kids at the middle school, Mr. Coulson?” Hunter had overheard their conversation and looked intrigued. “I didn’t know that.”

“Two girls,” Phil said. “My wife and I are fostering them, so they’re kind of a recent addition.”

“I’ve got a cousin over there,” said Hunter. “I pick him up everyday and drop him off at home before coming back here for practice.”

“Oh, little Turbo?” Mack had joined them then, and his face lit up when he heard Hunter mention his cousin. “I love that little dude. He’s hilarious.”

“That’s one word for it,” Hunter mused. “He’s a little bit of an oddball, if you catch my meaning,” he said to Bobbi. “But Mack finds him amusing. He loves Mack, of course.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Mack teased.

“I think it’s probably because Mack is the only one who’ll play video games with him,” Hunter said with a smirk. The bell rang out then, prompting everyone to start heading to class in earnest. Three minutes wasn’t much time to go from one end of the school to the other.

As Bobbi thumped her way down the hall, she saw a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye. Natasha had caught up and drew level with her, slowing her pace to keep in step with Bobbi’s clumsy moves.

“Hey, did I hear you say you have French with Duvall now?” she asked. Bobbi nodded. “That’s crazy,” Natasha said with a chuckle. “So do I. You weren’t kidding when you said you liked languages.”

“I could say the same about you,” Bobbi shrugged. She felt a twinge of defensiveness, even though Natasha was being nothing but nice. She just couldn’t get the suspicious look Natasha had worn when Mack had told her about the Phil lie out of her head. If anybody was going to catch her deception, she had a sinking feeling it was going to be Natasha.

“That’s true. I think we’re the only two people who are double-dipping on language this year. I’m not the greatest at school,” Natasha admitted, “but languages were always something I could do well. I’m guessing it has something to do with being forced to be bilingual at a young age, but I’m not good enough at biology or psychology to say if that’s actually true or not.” She laughed a little, and Bobbi tried lamely to match her. _True. True or not. Not._ She hadn’t told the truth. She just hoped it wouldn’t come back to ruin her life the way her last secret had. 


	23. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abuse/violence

It had been a week since the disastrous encounter with Ward in the gym, and true to his word, Trip seemed to have smoothed things out between everyone involved. Ward had taken to ignoring her completely, save for an assortment of nasty looks from a distance, but she was more than happy to handle glares and icy stares in place of the alternative.

Fitz had been a little more skittish than usual for a few days after the whole debacle, but he’d informed Skye and Jemma that his arrangement with Ward was back to business as usual and Skye felt like she owed it him to take him at his word.

Her days at school were becoming more and more routine, and even though most of her classes were harder than what she was used to, she actually found herself looking forward to going to school most days, which was a first for her. She figured it had more to do with the time she got to spend with Jemma and Fitz more than anything, but she still considered it a small personal victory that she didn’t completely dread the seven hours she spent at school every day.

Trip had even started hanging out with them from time to time, which made for an interesting dynamic. Every couple of days or so he would show up at their lunch table and join them, something that had shocked Skye the first time he’d done it.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble with Ward for eating with us?” she asked. She craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse of Ward, but he was blocked by his usual posse of football goons and popular girls.

“Ward’s not the boss of me,” Trip said defiantly. He paused for a minute, then cracked up at the shocked looks on Skye, Jemma, and Fitz’s faces. “Oh, come on, girl, you know I’m smarter than that. Ward thinks I’m keeping tabs on you, keeping you all in line.”

“He really fell for that?” asked Skye incredulously. She wouldn’t have called Ward a genius by any means, but she knew he wasn’t a total dolt, either.

“It was his idea,” Trip told them. “He thinks I have some power of persuasion over you all. Told me to pretend to be your friends so that he’d have an inside man.”

“So you’re a double agent, then,” teased Skye.

“You don’t think I can pull it off?” Trip teased back. “I’m basically the definition of calm, cool, and collected. I was born to be a secret agent!”

“Not exactly confidence inspiring,” Fitz mumbled. Something was going on with him, but Skye hadn’t been able to figure it out yet. It wasn’t just the Ward thing, which Fitz had mostly bounced back from, and as far as she knew he wasn’t still fighting with his cousin. The only thing she could figure was that Fitz didn’t like Trip very much, but she had no idea why. Trip had been nothing but nice to them, and he was helping them with their plan to take down Ward. Sometimes Fitz was fine around him, and the pair of them would joke back and forth like normal friends, but other times Fitz would get grumpy and sullen around Trip. As far as Skye could tell, there was no discernable pattern to Fitz’s moods, so she did her best to roll with them. It was possible that Jemma knew something that she didn’t, but if so, Jemma hadn’t felt the need to share it with Skye.

“I think you’d make an outstanding agent, Trip,” Jemma assured him. It had taken Jemma a while to warm up to Trip the way Skye had, but she had started talking to him after a few days of observation, which Skye took as a good sign. Now that Skye actually had multiple friends at school, she wanted to do her best to make sure everyone got along.

Besides her friends, the other pressing issue on Skye’s mind these days was the impending parent-teacher conferences that May and Phil had signed up for. Miss Hill had informed them one day in homeroom that, because they were older and “more capable of taking ownership of their own education,” they would each have to be there for a part of the meeting.

“You’re all mature enough to be a part of the conversation surrounding your learning,” Miss Hill explained to a grumbling class. “You’ll come to the meeting with your parents, and for the first part, you’ll lead the discussion about your strengths, the areas you need to improve in, things like that. You’ll get to show your parents some of the things you’ve been working on, which will give all of us an opportunity to see your fine achievements firsthand.”

Skye wasn’t so sure about that. She knew for a fact she didn’t have any “fine achievements” to show off at a meeting, and she had an uneasy feeling about what a conversation about her school performance would look like with May, Phil, Miss Hill, and herself all involved.

Still, there was no avoiding it, since Miss Hill had been utterly diligent in ensuring that May and Phil had gotten all of the information they needed in an email, plus about a dozen reminders. Miss Hill was a fairly young teacher, but she clearly had been around the block enough times to know how to thwart middle schoolers’ usual tricks for getting out of things.

* * *

When the evening of the conferences arrived, Skye found herself feeling even more nervous than she had expected. It had been a long day at school, with another pop quiz from Mr. DeRosa that she suspected she had failed, and a returned math worksheet with a fat, red D leering at her from the top corner, and Phil had been even more of a stickler about homework that afternoon than usual.

“It’ll be worth it to have everything done before the conference,” he told them. “You don’t want to have to come home tonight and keep working on it, I promise.” Skye didn’t say anything, opting instead to scowl at the tabletop and pick at the eraser on her pencil. Jemma, of course, was dutifully working away, zipping through her own worksheets and assignments. Skye loved Jemma dearly, but there were times where her studiousness drove Skye up the wall.

Bobbi did her homework at the kitchen table with them now, too, and she gave Skye a sympathetic look. Bobbi had warmed up to them all a lot over the past week, although she still wasn’t exactly what Skye would consider a chatterbox.

“Phil, I’m _tired_ ,” Skye complained. She knew she sounded whiney, but she couldn’t help it. Her nerves about tonight made her skin feel like it was crawling, and doing homework was the last thing she wanted to do. “Why can’t I do it later?”

“If that’s the choice you want to make, I can’t stop you,” Phil said wearily. He had a big stack of progress reports he had been working on filling out for the last few days, and Skye knew it wore him out to work on them. “I just think if you’re tired now, you’ll be even more tired later, and then you _really_ won’t want to do it.”

“We could read,” Jemma suggested. She had finished her star chart or whatever it was that she and Fitz had to do for astronomy, and looked ready to move on to her next assignment. They were only a few chapters from the end of _The Giver_ , and although Skye still didn’t love the book, even she had to admit the story was getting intense. The main character, Jonas, was planning on running away from home, even though it was super dangerous to do that in the world that the book took place in.

Skye had tried to run away from home before. Twice, actually, but she had never made it very far either time. Once was when she was little, maybe five or six. She had tried to run away from St. Agnes after Sister Margaret had given her an especially hard rap on the knuckles for sneaking an apple out of the kitchen in between meals. She had shoved all of her clothes into her pillowcase and had marched down the stairs and right out the front door. Sister Beatrice had watched her go, and had followed her from a safe distance as Skye had walked resolutely down the street. When Skye reached the corner, she had realized she was stuck, since she wasn’t allowed to cross the street by herself. Sister Beatrice had come and gotten her after that, and the nun even helped Skye unpack her pillowcase once they had walked back into the orphanage together.

The other time, Skye had been older, almost ten, and she had learned from some of her previous mistakes. She had been living with the Bryants, a particularly nasty foster family, one with bratty biological kids who taunted her for not being a “real” part of their family and a mother who was more interested in having a live-in maid than another daughter. The dad had been the worst part about that house, though. He was a shouter, and he was always complaining about money and about how expensive it was to take care of her. He also kept all of the food in the kitchen locked up.

When Skye taught herself how to pick the locks so she wouldn’t starve, he got angry. He had asked her if she knew how they used to punish people for stealing back in the olden days, and when Skye hadn’t responded, he undid his belt to show her exactly how people had been whipped. It wasn’t the first time Skye had been hit with a belt before, but it was the first time she had been hit with the buckle end instead of the plain side. The unforgiving metal of the buckle had cut into her shoulder, hurting even more than the usual crack of leather, and he had struck her over and over again until she was left in a crumpled, quivering heap on the kitchen floor. The back of her shirt felt sticky with blood from all the places where the buckle had cut her, and her whole back felt like it was on fire.

Before Mr. Bryant had left, he had sneered in her ear that if he ever caught her stealing from him again, he’d cut off her hand, and that was the final straw for Skye. That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Skye had packed her bag and slipped out onto the dark street with every intention of getting as far away from that home as possible. What she hadn’t counted on was the expensive silent alarm system that the Bryants had wired their house with, so it was only another few minutes before the police had been called and she had been rounded up.

Her foster parents had fed the police a baloney story about how their “real” kids had caught Skye stealing from them, and how she had flipped out and gotten violent with them before taking off into the night. The police bought it, of course, and didn’t even bother to ask Skye if it was true. They had called her social worker and told her the same thing, and Skye had been dumped back at St. Agnes that same night. It wasn’t until hours later, when Jemma had snuck her into a broom closet where they could be alone, that she had finally let herself cry.

Jemma had nursed her back to health after that, keeping the cuts that snaked across her back clean while they healed, and Skye ended up with only a couple scars thanks to Jemma’s skill with antibiotic cream and improvised bandages. Skye had also been given a new social worker after the incident, which she considered to be the one silver lining in the whole ordeal. Her old one had left a particularly harsh letter in her file before requesting to have Skye reassigned, insisting that she had never worked with a kid as difficult and unmanageable as Skye before. Skye would have been more upset if she hadn’t ended up getting assigned to Miss Hand right after. Miss Hand wasn’t perfect, but she was the best social worker she had ever had. 

“Skye? Skye did you hear me?” Jemma’s voice clawed its way into Skye’s brain and snapped her out of her reverie. She looked up at everyone around the table, a little bewildered as she tried to refocus on the conversation happening in front of her.

“Huh? What… um, yeah, reading,” she finally managed to get out. She gave herself a little shake to clear her head. “Let’s do that.”

“You okay, Skye?” Phil asked. The tiredness in his voice had disappeared, replaced with deep concern. He gave her a long, careful look. “Maybe you _should_ go lie down before we have to get ready to go…”

“No!” Skye said quickly. “I’m fine. I was just… thinking about… I mean, I was… I got distracted is all.” Her words were jumping out of her mouth before she could arrange them, and she knew she wasn’t making any sense. She wasn’t sure if it was anxiety about the upcoming meeting or the bad memories of her time with the Bryants, but something was making her brain feel more scrambled than usual. Phil could tell something was wrong, and he put down his pen, giving her his full attention.

“Do you want to talk about what’s distracting you?” he asked. Skye squirmed under his worried gaze. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have tonight.

“No, it’s fine. I should just do my math or something,” she muttered, avoiding the eyes of everyone at the table. She didn’t even have to look to know Jemma’s brow would be puckered with worry, her big brown eyes looking balefully up at her, or that the lines on Phil’s forehead would be creased up, or that Bobbi’s face wouldn’t reveal much, except for her eyes, which would be full of curiosities and questions.

An uneasy silence settled over the table as everyone went back to their own work, but Skye couldn’t stop the hive of bees that was buzzing around in her head, replaying her memories and pestering her with doubts.

“If… if somebody did something bad in this house, like really bad, not an accident, what would happen to them?” she heard herself asking. There was a quake in her voice that she wished she could get rid of, and she hadn’t really intended to ask the question at all, but something inside of her made her feel like she needed to know the answer right then and there. She needed to hear Phil say it.

“What kind of bad thing?” Phil asked. “Most things aren’t as bad as they seem. Usually they’re mistakes, or poor choices, or—”

“A bad thing like stealing,” Skye interrupted. She heard Jemma inhale sharply, and she knew Jemma had figured out what Skye was talking about. The sound of tapping quickly followed. “Something that’s actually illegal. What would happen?”

“Well,” Phil began slowly, “I guess the first thing we’d have to do is talk about it. See what happened and why the person thought stealing was the best choice to make in that particular situation. The person might have to give back the thing they stole, or pay to replace it, or they might have some privileges taken away. I guess that’s something that Melinda and I would have to talk about and decide with the person who might have stolen.”

“You wouldn’t yell?” Skye asked. She made sure to look Phil right in the eyes when she spoke. She wanted to make sure he was telling her the truth. “You wouldn’t hurt the person, even though they might need to be punished?”

“No, of course not. Yelling never solves anything, and it’s never okay to hurt someone for punishment. I hope you know that. Skye, where’s all this coming from?” Phil looked genuinely concerned about Skye’s line of questioning, and Skye felt a little bad for ever thinking that he would ever be like Mr. Bryant. “Did something happen? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“It’s nothing,” Skye promised. “I didn’t do anything, I just… I was just thinking about… something that happened a long time ago, I guess. I just needed to know…”

“Skye, I promise you that Melinda and I will never hurt you,” Phil told her. “We both believe very strongly that it’s wrong to hurt other people, especially for grownups to hurt kids. Do you hear me?” He waited for Skye to nod that she understood what he was saying. “Jemma, Bobbi, the same goes for the both of you. It’s very important to me and Melinda that you all know this is not a place where you are in danger. Do you know that?” Jemma’s tapping slowed its pace, and she nodded solemnly, although she didn’t meet Phil’s eyes. When Skye looked to Bobbi, she was surprised to see the older girl’s eyes were shining with gathering tears. Her jaw was set firmly, though, and she looked determined not to cry as she mirrored the same nod that Skye and Jemma had given Phil.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t feel like it,” Phil said then, “but if you ever want to talk to me, or Melinda, about things like this, either one of us would be more than happy to listen. It’s not for everybody, but I know a lot of people find it helpful to tell someone about the things that bother them. When they’re ready to, of course. If you ever want to, you can talk to us about anything.”

Skye suspected that Phil was hoping she would open up, but was too nice to push any harder on the issue. She was grateful that he was able to pick up on her boundaries so well and that he wasn’t the type to try and test them. She was positive that if she opened her mouth to say another single word she would do something mortifying like burst into tears or spill her guts about every bad thing that had ever happened to her in her short, miserable life, and neither one of those seemed like an appealing option at the moment.

Sensing that the conversation was over for the time being, Phil returned to his papers, but Skye could tell that he still had one eye on her. She forced her face into a false smile to try and assure him that everything was fine and pulled out the math problems that Mr. Bennett had assigned to the kids who needed “extra practice.” The dumb kids, like her, who got Ds on their homework and who were probably going to bomb the big unit test next week.

May walked in a few minutes later, looking a little frazzled. She seemed to relax when she saw everyone at the table together, and a faint smile crossed her face before she spoke.

“I’m so sorry, I’m running late. Fury stuck me with some extra paperwork right before I was getting ready to leave, and there was construction on the 151…”

“You’re fine, honey,” Phil soothed. He checked his watch. “We’ve got plenty of time. You go put your stuff down and we’ll all start getting ready to leave, sound good?” May smiled for real, and gave Phil a quick peck on the cheek.

“I didn’t even say hello,” she chided herself. “How was everyone’s day?” All three girls gave a variety of noncommittal answers, no one quite making eye contact with May as she looked from face to face. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Hmm, that good, huh? Well, I’d love to hear more detail later on tonight.”

“I’ve got dinner waiting for that very opportunity,” Phil promised, gesturing to a crockpot that was simmering away on the counter. “It should be ready to dig into by the time we get home later, and then we can catch each other up. Jemma, Skye, why don’t you two pack your things up and go get your shoes? Melinda and I are going to go finish getting ready, and then we’ll leave in about ten minutes, okay?” They both nodded, and Skye wasted no time in shoving all of her things roughly into her backpack. Her worksheet was definitely going to be crumpled when she pulled it out again later, but that was future Skye’s problem, she decided.

She noticed that Phil gave May one of those “we need to talk about the kids once we’re not in front of them” looks that she had seen so many times on grownups’ faces before as he collected his own work and got up from the table. She should have known he was going to want to talk to May about how weird she had been acting earlier. Jemma was taking her time putting her things away, as usual, and Skye decided in a split second to linger beside Jemma to give May and Phil enough time to leave the room and to give herself enough time to follow them safely to eavesdrop.

Once she heard their footsteps on the stairs, she turned to Jemma and announced that she was going to go and put her backpack in their room.

“Is that all you’re going to do?” Jemma asked suspiciously. Skye cast her eyes to one side and shrugged. Jemma had read her as easily as she read _The Giver_. Bobbi, who had been watching silently from the other side of the table, shook her head with a chuckle.

“Sound’s like she’s got you pegged, Skye.”

“I’m just going to put my stuff upstairs, and if I happen to hear someone else’s conversation on the way…” Skye shrugged again. When Jemma didn’t look impressed by Skye’s ambiguity, she tried another approach. “You know they’re talking about me.”

“They might not be,” Jemma said. Skye knew she was trying to be helpful, but it was clear that even Jemma herself didn’t really believe that. “Either way, it’s a private conversation, Skye. You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

“I’m not asking you to go with me,” Skye pointed out. “Besides, how else am I supposed to find stuff out? You know nobody ever tells us anything. We deserve to know things that have to do with us.”

“They tell us some things,” insisted Jemma. “They tell us the most important things.”

“Not everything,” Skye grumbled. She kicked gently at the ground, dragging her toe across the linoleum. There were so many holes in her life left by people not telling her the things she thought she needed to know. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. They’re probably done talking about it now, anyway. You don’t have to worry about me sinking into a life of delinquency or whatever.”

She winced as soon as the words had come out of her mouth. She knew her tone had been too sharp. Jemma frowned, the corners of her mouth puckered down. Skye had hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’re just looking out for me.” It wasn’t until after a long, tense pause that Jemma spoke. She didn’t look at Skye when she did.

“You’ve been acting strangely today.” It wasn’t a question, but Skye knew Jemma was waiting for an explanation. Skye figured she at least owed Jemma that much after snapping at her like that.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m… I’m kind of… twisted up, I guess. I don’t want to go to these stupid meetings tonight. I don’t want Phil and May to hear about how bad I’m doing at school. I don’t want you to think I’m dumb. And then in the book, Jonas is running away, and it keeps making me think about—” Her voice hitched in her throat.

“The Bryants,” Jemma supplied, completing Skye’s thought for her. “I thought that might be what you were asking Phil about.” She stretched out a hand and brushed her fingers across the place on Skye’s back where some of the scars still lingered. Skye swallowed hard. No one knew her scars like Jemma did.

“I’m just really messed up right now,” Skye murmured. She stared intently at her hands in her lap, so she wouldn’t have to see the look of sadness or disappointment on anybody’s face. “And it’s making me say things I don’t mean. I’m really sorry, Jems.”

“It’s okay,” Jemma said softly. “It’s okay to be nervous or to feel…bad…when you remember bad things. The Bryants were bad.”

“I was bad, too,” Skye said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bad things happen because I screw up. And I’m screwing up again, and now I’m just waiting for…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was waiting for. For the rug to pulled out from under her. For May and Phil to give up on her. For the other shoe to drop and crush her under its heel.

To Skye’s surprise, Bobbi cleared her throat and began speaking hesitantly from the other side of the table.

“For what it’s worth, Skye, I get it,” she said. “My dad… well, he wasn’t… I mean, I don’t know what happened with these other people. And you don’t have to tell me,” she added quickly. “But I know what it’s like to live in a place where all of your mistakes are ten times worse because of how someone else is going to react. I know what it’s like to be afraid someone’s going to… going to hurt you because of something you did wrong.”

“It just makes everything so much worse,” Skye admitted. “Even in places where I know nothing bad can happen when I mess up, it doesn’t go away. It’s like I get punished twice for every bad thing I do, and it’s never going to change.”

“There’s always a chance,” Jemma said. Her fingers still traced across Skye’s back, but her eyes were far away. It was the expression that always made Skye think Jemma was seeing past the smog and gunk of their world and straight to the stars instead. “The universe is positively packed with potential energy, just waiting to be released. Everything changes eventually – a big bang, an evolutionary leap – even if it takes billions of years to do it. Maybe this time is our one in a billion.” 


	24. The Conferences

May waited until she and Phil had gone upstairs and Phil had shut the door to their bedroom tightly behind them to spin around and give her husband one of her trademark looks. She arched one eyebrow and tilted her chin ever so slightly to the right, asking the question without having to use a single word.

“I had an interesting conversation with Skye this afternoon,” Phil began. He started to putter around the room, straightening the books on their bedside table, shuffling the hangers around in the closet. He was trying to keep things light and casual, but Melinda knew better. She had seen the look he had given her in the kitchen when she walked in.

“I could tell something was bothering her. She was grouchy in the car on the way home, and she was fighting me on doing homework,” he continued, still trying to use an airy tone.

“Fighting?”

"Well, not fighting. Just dragging her heels on it. You know how kids gets when they don’t want to do something.”

May smiled. “I think it looks something like how you get anytime the grass needs cutting around here. Kind of pouty, hunched over shoulders, maybe some puppy dog eyes...”

“Cutting the grass is one of the worst chores known to man,” Phil protested. His eyes twinkled with playfulness, and May felt her smile widening. “I still don’t see why you won’t let me pay some kid in the neighborhood to do it for us.”

“Maybe we’ll revisit the issue next summer,” she conceded. “You were saying, about Skye?”

“Right, Skye,” nodded Phil. “So she’s not really acting like herself, and then out of the blue, she asks me what would happen to someone who stole something.”

“Like, legally? Is she in trouble? I would have heard something at the station if the police—”

“No, not like that, I don’t think,” Phil said. “I asked her if everything was okay, and she said she was just thinking about something. So I told her about how we would talk things out and decide as a group what the appropriate response would be.”

“Of course,” agreed May. “That was one of the things you and I talked about before we even told Victoria we wanted to foster. We talk things out, we parent as a team.”

“Absolutely.” Phil nodded again. “But she didn’t seem convinced. She was being elusive the whole time, never coming out and saying exactly what was on her mind. But she asked if we would ever yell, or hurt someone if they did something bad. She said she just needed to know.”

May furrowed her brow and sank onto the end of the bed. “Does she really think that we’re the kind of people who would do something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Phil admitted. “I hope not. But when you really think about it, we’re still strangers to her.”

“And she doesn’t know if she can trust us yet, or if we’ll turn out to be as horrible as some of the people she’s lived with before…” A pang of realization rattled around in May’s ribs as she spoke. She had known it was unrealistic, but there had been a part of her that had hoped the trust would just come quickly and naturally once their foster daughters had settled in. Of course, she knew that wasn’t the way trust worked. It had to be built and earned over time, and the fact of the matter was that she and Phil simply hadn’t been parents for a long enough amount of time for trust – real, deep, genuine trust – to have been cultivated.

“I told her, and Jemma and Bobbi, too, in no uncertain terms that we don’t believe in violence as punishment, and that they can come to us for anything without being afraid of us yelling or, God forbid, hurting them,” Phil continued. “I’m not sure how much of it sunk in, though.”

“Those are probably hard words to believe when most of your life experience has told you otherwise,” said May sadly. “When I think about some of the things that all three of those kids have gone through… the things in those files…”

“And that’s just the stuff Vic was able to send us records of,” Phil remarked. “I have the upmost respect for Victoria, and I know it’s not her fault, but there are so many gaps and holes in those reports and records. There are whole years missing from some of Skye and Jemma’s paperwork.”

May nodded and felt her shoulders sag. There was no telling how many people Skye and Jemma had suffered at the hands of. And Bobbi… well, they knew exactly how many people were responsible for her torment, but just that one horrible excuse for a father was more than enough for one little girl’s lifetime. Phil came and sat next to her on the bed, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to send us down that rabbit hole,” he said quietly. “I can see your wheels turning, Mel.” She shook her head and offered a smile to let him know that it was okay, then reached over and gave his knee a return squeeze.

“You’re right, it is a rabbit hole. One that we’ll need to explore at some point, but not tonight. Tonight, we just need to get through these teacher meetings and make sure our three incredible children know how much they are loved in this house.”

“I knew I could count on you for a plan of action,” Phil teased, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “One of the many reasons why I love you.”

“Are you keeping a list?” May teased back. She stood up then, and began to finish getting ready, putting the last of her work things away and hanging up her blazer.

“Only for the last twenty years or so,” Phil called to her from the bed. “It’s getting pretty long, to be honest. I might have to chop down another tree just to make sure I have enough paper.”

“You’re ridiculous,” May grinned, returning to Phil and pulling him up off the bed. “And I bet my list for you is even longer.”

* * *

It had been harder to get everyone out the door and into the car than May had expected. Skye had totally shrunk in on herself, not saying much or making much eye contact. May thought she was acting more like Jemma than Jemma herself, who instead seemed to have occupied the social, chatty role that Skye usually filled. It didn’t take an ace detective to figure out that Jemma was trying her best to deflect attention from the sullen and sulky Skye as she chirped away about the things she had learned in school that day and all of the interesting things her friend Fitz had told her recently. As good as Jemma was at nurturing Skye, May could tell that it was taking a lot of her energy to carry on such a forced conversation without any input from Skye.

Conversely, Skye looked almost spooked, always a half step right behind Jemma, head down and heels dragging. One of her hands was tangled into Jemma’s, and the younger girl was tapping her pointer finger away on the back of Skye’s hand.

Phil, to his credit, acted like nothing was out of the ordinary and did his best to jockey everyone out to where they were supposed to be. They made sure Bobbi had all of the necessary emergency phone numbers and was okay to stay home alone for an hour, which she assured them she was with one of those classic “please remember I’m 15, not 5” looks that only teenagers can give, and finally she, Phil, Skye, and Jemma were all in the car and pulling out of the driveway.

It wasn’t until they were more than halfway to the school before Skye said anything, and when she did, her words made May’s heart ache.

“Are you sure we have to go to this thing?” Skye asked. Her voice was small and had an edge of pleading to it. When no one responded right away, her tone shifted slightly, hints of hard anger lacing their way in. “It’s not like the teachers are going to have anything good to say, and I bet Miss Hill would just email you everything if you asked. We could just go home and do something actually fun together instead.” Jemma made a concerned little noise, and May twisted around in the passenger to seat to make sure she could look at Skye while she spoke.

“I know these meetings can seem a little intimidating,” May began, and Skye scowled. “But they’re important. Phil and I want to meet your teachers, for one thing, and we want to hear about how well you’re both doing in school. We know how hard the two of you have been working since you got here, and we’re so proud. You’re trying your best, and that’s—”

“—the most important thing,” Skye grumbled. “I remember. I just… Don’t get your hopes up, is all.”

“Skye,” Phil said, glancing into the rearview mirror to catch her eye. “You and Jemma and Bobbi are already the realization of our wildest hopes and dreams, just by being you. Melinda and I, for a long time we didn’t think we’d ever get to be parents, and now we have three of the most outstanding girls a person could ask for.”

“Our hopes are already as high as they can go, and every day you three still manage to clear them by leaps and bounds,” May added. “Whatever your teachers might have to say in the next 45 minutes is not going to change that one bit.”

Both girls’ faces had gone scarlet, and May watched as Skye blinked hard a few times to clear the shininess that was gathering in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t know how many times it would take for that message to sink in, but she knew that she and Phil would repeat every day for the rest of their lives if that’s how long it took to get the girls to understand just how much they mattered.

* * *

The hallway outside of Miss Hill’s classroom was empty, save for three folding chairs that had been set up near the door. The door itself had a piece of construction paper taped over the glass pane, presumably to give the people in the conference some privacy. They had only been waiting a few minutes when the door opened, and Miss Hill stepped out into the hall.

Melinda had met the young woman a few times before, back when Phil had been teaching at the middle school. She knew that Maria had been one of Phil’s favorite coworkers and remembered some of the more boisterous tales that Phil had regaled her with of his and Maria’s antics: Filling the teachers’ lounge with balloons and streamers every time it was someone’s birthday, writing out Captain America-themed valentines cards for every kid in their homerooms, challenging their students to raise a certain amount of money for their holiday food drive and agreeing to take a pie in the face from the class who raised the most. Maria had a big heart, just like Phil, and she had the right kind of energy to be teaching teenagers every day, that much May was sure of.

A middle-aged woman and a boy who must have been her son followed behind Miss Hill, the woman thanking Miss Hill and shaking her hand as they left. She was wearing a soft, simple-looking dress and had a broad smile on her face. She must have been very proud of her son.

“Fitz!” May whirled around to see Jemma’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. May had to clear her throat harshly to keep from laughing at just how excited the normally reserved girl had become at the sight of who May could only assume was the famous Fitz she had heard so much about.

Fitz glanced up at his mother, who gave him a nod, before scampering off to where Skye and Jemma stood, and the three children became immediately engrossed in conversation. To May’s right, Phil chuckled at the sight of them. He turned to the other adults then and began shaking hands.

“Maria, hi, really good to see you. You must be Mrs. Fitz. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Phil Coulson, and this is my wife Melinda May. I think our girls have really taken a shine to your son.”

“It’s so wonderful to put faces to the names,” Mrs. Fitz said. She had a lilting accent, one that May thought sounded like it had been blended by years of living in a few different places. England, maybe, Scotland for sure. “Leo used to keep to himself so often, but now every day it’s ‘Jemma this’ and ‘Skye that.’” She looked positively glowing as she spoke, and May could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. “He’s been so cheery lately, and…” She took a moment to collect herself, but her voice was still fragile when she spoke again. “It’s just so nice to see him finally making friends. As a mother, you know, I couldn’t help but worry, and now…”

“It’s been so good for Jemma and Skye to have a friend like him,” Phil told her, flashing her his warmest smile. May was always impressed at how good Phil was with people. “It’s hard coming to a new school, and he’s been a real godsend.”

“We’re so grateful,” May added. “He’s made the transition so much better for them. Jemma, especially. She talks more about Fitz than just about any other subject.”

“Except maybe biology, or astronomy,” Phil cut in playfully. “Those get some pretty good airtime with her, too.” He laughed then, and May found herself joining him.

“Oh, Leo’s the same way.” Mrs. Fitz laughed, too. “Most of the time I haven’t a clue what he’s going on about, rockets and circuits and chemistry and whatnot. But he gets so excited, I just let him tell me, even though it’s all over my head.” They all shared another laugh, marveling at the intellect and eccentricities of their children. May caught Skye watching them carefully out of the corner of her eye, and she tried to send waves of reassurance her way. She hoped Skye knew they weren’t laughing at them.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Mrs. Fitz said then, beckoning for her son to rejoin her. “My sister’s at home with dinner, and I’m sure you all want to get on with your meetings. It was lovely to meet you both.”

“We’ll have to get together sometime,” Phil said. “Give our kids a chance to spend some time together, give us a chance to get to know each other.”

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Fitz smiled. She and Fitz gave everyone a final wave, then disappeared quickly down the empty hall.

“Shall we get started?” Miss Hill asked, looking from May to Phil and then to Skye and Jemma. “Who’d like to go first?” May was sad to see that the chance encounter with Fitz, while momentarily exciting for the girls, had done nothing to alter their moods. Jemma was starting to get flighty, tapping more fervently on Skye’s hand, which hadn’t left Jemma’s since they had left the house. Skye had retreated back into herself, her head ducked and her grip on Jemma’s hand tight like a vice. They were supposed to have their meetings separately, but May wasn’t sure she’d be able to get two apart long enough for a meeting to take place.

“Maria, I know it’s a little unorthodox, but do you think we would be able to have the meetings together?” Phil asked. _Thank God for Phil_ , May thought. He had noticed the exact same things she had, and he knew exactly how to give Skye and Jemma what they needed. “At least to start, maybe? We’ve had a little bit of a stressful day, and I think it might help make things a little easier if we could stay together.”

“Sure,” Miss Hill said with a nod. “As long as that’s okay with Jemma and Skye.” She took the time to check with each girl, who both offered a nod of affirmation. May thought she saw at least of tiny bit of tension release from Skye’s shoulders, which she took as a good sign.

The teacher ushered them all into the classroom, and quickly pulled another desk over so that all four of them could sit and chat with her. She brought over two small manilla folders from her desk, which she set out in front of her as she sat down.

“The main purpose of these meetings,” Miss Hill said pleasantly, “is to give parents and guardians a chance to check in with their students and their teachers. To hear directly from their students how they feel about their progress, to see some of their students’ work, and to hear some comments from the teaching staff as well, that sort of thing. I know I haven’t gotten to work with the girls as long as some of my other students, but they’ve been with us for about three weeks, now, so the other teachers and myself are starting to get an idea of them as students. I’ll let Skye and Jemma speak first, before I say anything, and we’ll make sure there’s time for questions at the end. How does that sound?”

“Great,” smiled Phil. “Melinda and I have been looking forward to having this conversation.”

“Fantastic,” said Miss Hill. She turned to Skye and Jemma. “Would one of you like to start?”

May had been around Jemma and Skye long enough to know that Skye was almost always the one to volunteer to go first, to plunge in ahead and test the waters for the more tentative and deliberate Jemma. She also knew by now that school was a much bigger insecurity for Skye than it was for Jemma, even if Skye tried to hide that fact behind bravado and a façade of apathy towards her education. Given that, and coupled with the reticence Skye had been demonstrating all evening, it didn’t come as a huge surprise when it was Jemma’s voice that offered to go first.

“Thanks, Jemma.” Miss Hill’s tone was gentle, and it was clear she had noticed just how nervous everyone seemed to be acting. “Why don’t you start by telling us what you think some of your strengths are at school, and what some things are that you are still getting better at?”

It took Jemma a few seconds to speak. Apparently the boldness she had mustered had all been sapped by the effort of volunteering to go first. It wasn’t until Skye gave her a nudge and a nod that she opened her mouth.

“Well, um… I’m… I’m decent at maths, and I know the answers in science. I think I need to get better at basketball, and dodgeball.” May cut her eyes over to Phil, who was biting back a smile at the idea of timid, gentle Jemma playing dodgeball.

“What would you say is your favorite class that you go to right now?” Miss Hill wanted to know.

“Most of them are good,” Jemma mused. “I think I like astronomy the best, though. I love the stars and the galaxies, and Mr. Daniels talks about things I don’t already know.”

“Is there anything else about school that you think it’s important for May and Phil to know?” There was another long pause as Jemma considered the question.

“This is the first time I’ve liked my school in a long time. I like being in classes with Skye and Fitz. Some days I’m still afraid, but…” She paused to glance briefly at Skye. “But Skye makes me brave.”

“That’s really wonderful, Jemma,” Miss Hill said. “Thank you for sharing all of that with us.” She slid out one of the folders and opened it, revealing some of Jemma’s graded assignments, and a page that May couldn’t read upside down, but that she suspected had comments from all of Jemma’s other teachers.

“Jemma is a remarkable student,” she told them as she passed around some of Jemma’s work, all of which was adorned with A’s. “She definitely has exceptional proficiency in areas of math and science, but her work in her other classes has been exemplary as well so far. In my class I know she’s demonstrated strong reading comprehension. I have the students write summaries and reflections from time to time on the chapters we’ve been looking at, and Jemma often will provide high-level analysis of the work. I don’t know if the two of you had any reservations about moving her up a grade when she transferred here, but I can assure that she is having no trouble with the work as far as any of her teachers can see.”

Phil beamed over at Jemma, and May watched as Skye leaned into Jemma’s side, nestling her head on Jemma’s shoulder. It was clear that everyone was proud of her.

“Coach Garrett didn’t submit any comments, so I can’t speak to Jemma’s basketball skills,” Miss Hill laughed, “but I do have a few suggestions for growth areas that I’d like to share with you all.”

“By all means,” Phil said. A brief look of anxiety flashed in Jemma’s eyes, and May tried to send her a reassuring smile.

“Well, like I said, all of Jemma’s work is exemplary, but it’s really only through her written work that we get to see how well she’s managing the material. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but several of her teachers mentioned that they would love to see a little bit more engagement and participation in the classroom itself. Raising her hand, speaking in group discussions, that sort of thing. It’s wonderful that she has Skye, and that they’ve become friends with Leo as well, but there are a few concerns about her socialization. Connecting with other students, you know?”

May watched as Skye scowled and turned to look at Miss Hill with pure indignation. She was sure Skye’s protective nature was kicking in, and if she was being honest, she shared some of the same sentiment.

“Is that really such a concern?” May wanted to know. “Especially if she does already have two close friends? It’s not as though she’s not speaking with anyone all day or anything like that.”

“No, of course,” Miss Hill said quickly. “It’s not a concern all of the teachers share, just something a few of them have observed. Some parents like to be aware of how well their child’s social skills are developing along with their intellectual ones. As far as I’m concerned, if Jemma is happy and enjoying her time in school, then that’s what really matters. To be frank, my main concern with Jemma is that she’s not being challenged enough academically. She mentioned just now that astronomy is one of the classes where she receives new information on a regular basis. I worry that some of her classes are reteaching her material she’s already mastered, which can be boring for some students, or cause them to disengage.”

“Has that been an issue for you, Jemma?” Phil asked. “Are you bored in some of your classes?”

“Not exactly,” Jemma said thoughtfully. “I’d prefer to learn new things, I suppose, but… I’m not bored. Being with Skye and Fitz makes the classes not boring.”

“And that’s the delicate balance we need to strike,” Miss Hill explained. “For some students, the priority is getting them at a grade level that will challenge them intellectually, and for others, the priority is keeping them among like-minded peers who can make school an enjoyable place. The decision is ultimately up to your family, but it’s worth having an honest conversation about amongst yourselves. If you’re interested, I also think our guidance counselor, Mrs. Hinton, could be a big help if you find yourselves looking for an outside opinion.”

“Oh, Polly’s still here?” asked Phil. “Good for her. I always liked her,” Phil explained to a curious Jemma and Skye. “Mel, I think you met her once or twice before. She’s got that cute little daughter that she brought to the staff picnic, remember? Gosh, she’s got to be what, five or six years old by this point?”

“I do remember,” May said, chuckling. She laid a gentle hand on Phil’s arm. “Let’s try and stay focused though, love, yes?”

“Right, totally right.” Phil waved his hands as if to clear the air from his sidetrack. “Well, if you think it’s worth a chat, Maria, we can reach out to Polly at some point.”

“Jemma, how do you feel about your classes? Would you be interested in talking about finding you some more challenging work?” May asked. Miss Hill might think it was _worth a chat_ with the guidance counselor, but she knew there was no point in considering a move if Jemma wasn’t interested.

“I don’t want to change classes,” Jemma admitted, her eyes sliding down to the floor. May watched as Jemma’s vision darted back and forth across the ground, and she wondered if Jemma was counting the tiles. It had been a few days since she had seen Jemma count something. Maybe the idea of switching classes was causing stress. She remembered how difficult the idea of changing clothes had been. Surely changing grades would be even harder.

“That’s totally fair, Jemma,” Miss Hill assured her. “If you want my opinion, I think you’re doing great where you are, and I think it’s wonderful that you have two really good friends. But Mrs. Hinton might be able to help you and Phil and May come up with some other ways to make sure you’re still learning things at a good pace. Maybe some extra work, or some one on one time with a more advanced teacher, something like that. Mrs. Hinton is the expert, not me, so I’m sure she’d have more information.”

“Well it sounds like it’s at least merits a conversation,” Phil said. “Even if it’s just to see what some of the options are.” Jemma didn’t make a move or even acknowledge that she had heard what was being said. Her eyes were still glued to the floor, and her lips were moving slightly. May was sure she was counting now. She gave Phil a pointed look, and thankfully, he caught her drift and noticed Jemma’s now obvious discomfort.

“We’ll take some time to think about it. Thanks, Maria. Is there anything else we should know about Jemma, or are we ready to move on to you, Skye?”


	25. The Conferences Continue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of bullying and corporal punishment

Skye had lived through plenty of nightmare scenarios in her lifetime, and while the one spiraling out in front of her didn’t exactly make her top-ten of “worst things to ever happen,” that didn’t make the desire to wake up and discover the whole day had been a dream any less potent. She knew she had messed up in a big way by getting so caught up in thinking about the Bryants, and she had made everything even worse by opening her mouth about it.

Usually if a bad memory was stuck on replay in her head or pinging around like an out of control pinball, she could eventually get it to go dark by distracting herself or just shutting down her thoughts completely. As much as Jemma liked to wax poetically about the marvels of the human brain, Skye always imagined her brain to be like a tiny little computer in her head that she could eventually hack into, if she just tried hard enough. Sometimes the password changed, or there was a glitch in her circuitry, and she couldn’t get certain things to go away, but she thought she had been getting better at telling her brain how to shut up and shut off.

Something about the last few weeks with May and Phil had fried her motherboards, though, and the longer she lived with them, the less control she felt like she had over her brain. She kept remembering horrible pieces of her time in other foster homes that she thought she had blocked out, and while she had never been good at keeping herself from blurting things out as soon as they popped into her head, she was even worse at it here than she had been in a long time. That much was evidenced by the fact that she had to go and make a scene that night, asking Phil if he would ever hurt her for stealing. A total rookie mistake on her part.

Questions like that weren’t ones you asked to your foster parents. It was the kind of question that made people defensive, or self-righteous, or hostile, especially if they were the kind of people who did believe in strict punishment for bad kids like Skye. Questions like that raised red flags for grownups, which is why questions like that were for the thin hours of the night, when time gets slippery and everyone but Jemma was asleep, and when the two of them could whisper their hearts to one another under the cover of darkness.

So asking about the Bryants had been bad. And then May had come in, and Phil had given her that look that told Skye that the red flag had been raised. And now there was no telling what the two of them were going to do next. When they had rejoined her, Jemma, and Bobbi, May and Phil acted like nothing was different, but Skye would have to be even stupider than people like her teachers thought she was to think that May and Phil hadn’t been faking it.

Her whole stomach felt twisted up, like a writhing knot of snakes were trying to untangle themselves inside of her, and all she could think about was the ominous mantra ringing in her ears. _What were May and Phil going to do? What was Miss Hill going to say? How much more could everyone take from her before she had to go back?_

Jemma was her rock, of course. She talked and flitted, trying to pull the attention onto her and away from Skye. She held Skye’s hand to keep her from floating away into the atmosphere, and even her tapping felt like a grounding rhythm against the back of Skye’s hand, telegraphing a single message: _I am here. I am here. I am here._ _Tap-tap-tap._

That was probably why Miss Hill’s words felt so sharp in Skye’s chest when she heard their teacher start to talk about how some of the teachers wanted Jemma to socialize more, and about how maybe she should be in a different grade. She couldn’t exactly tell which side of the whole thing Miss Hill herself was on, but it took everything Skye had not to snap and inform their teacher just how wrong people were about Jemma.

Skye had never met a grownup who got Jemma, truly got her. She had never really met a kid who got Jemma either, if she was being totally honest, except for maybe Fitz. Even she herself didn’t completely understand the way Jemma saw the world, but that would never have stopped her from loving Jemma and sticking by her side. There had been times when she had wondered if May and Phil might get close, like when May had calmed Jemma down in the dressing room, or when Phil had helped her to talk about her parents, but the way they were taking Miss Hill so seriously as she spoke about how Jemma should be “connecting” more cast a whole new shadow of doubt over everything all over again.

She should have known better than to doubt them, of course. It was only moments before May started pushing back, defending Jemma as gallantly as Skye herself wished she could, and Phil kept making sure that Jemma was getting a chance to have a say in whether or not she got moved again. Once again Phil and May had demonstrated that they were some of the good ones, and it made Skye’s chest ache to know that she still hadn’t trusted them as fully as she should be able to.

Then Phil had asked her if she was ready for the meeting to transition over to her, and it was like the world ground to a halt around her. The conversation she had been dreading for weeks had finally arrived. She couldn’t make her mouth open for a few seconds, until she felt the _tap-tap-tap_ of Jemma’s finger on her hand. _I am here_.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Skye finally managed to spit out. She gave herself a mental shake. She had to be cool, had to act normal. If she was going to have any hope of recovering from her slip up earlier in the day and from whatever lousy things were about to be said in the meeting, she had to get herself under control and not act like a total basket case.

“Great,” Miss Hill smiled. “So, Skye, we’ll start the same way. What are some of your strengths, do you think?”

Skye had to force herself not to let out a bitter laugh, which she knew wouldn’t have helped her case. Stalling for time, she shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she began slowly, chewing on her words. Pieces of an answer slowly started to meld together in her brain. “I guess I do okay in Computer Science. We’ve been doing web design, and that stuff makes sense. I haven’t failed anything in history, but Mrs. Henry just does the daily question, and that’s not really all that hard.”

Miss Hill didn’t respond with anything but a thoughtful nod before asking her next question. “And what about some things that you think you might want to get better at?”

“Everybody knows I’m basically flunking everything else,” Skye mumbled. Her ears felt hot, and she glued her eyes to the floor so she wouldn’t have to see the looks of disappointment on all of the adults’ faces. “That’s what you want me to say, right? You want me to tell the truth about how bad I’m doing in all my other subjects?”

“Skye, I don’t have anything specific I _want_ you to say. There are no right answers here, as long as you tell us how you feel and not what you think we want to hear.” Miss Hill’s tone was kind, but there was some firmness to it that let Skye know she expected a better answer. Skye figured that kind of voice must be something they taught in teacher school, because it was something that almost every teacher she’d ever had had mastered.

“Maybe I should rephrase the question,” Miss Hill continued. “Do you think you could tell us some areas in school that you feel are difficult for you?”

“Math is the hardest,” said Skye after a beat. She knew Miss Hill wasn’t going to let her off the hook, so she decided that honesty might be her easiest way out. “It’s really confusing, and I don’t understand anything that we do in there. I have trouble in science because there’s too much to remember, and the quizzes are really hard. They’re way harder than the homework we do.” She still hadn’t taken her eyes off the floor, but no one seemed to be objecting to her assessment. Whether that was because she was spot-on or because they couldn’t believe how pathetic she was, she couldn’t be sure. “The stuff we read in English is confusing, too, and it’s hard to remember everything that happens in the book, especially when we have to write about it the next day.”

“Do you have a favorite class so far?”

“Computer science,” Skye said without hesitation. “Like I said, stuff makes sense in there, and I like computers a lot. I know it’s not really a class, but I like lunch, too. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say that one.” The sound of Phil chuckling was enough to draw Skye’s eyes back up from the floor, and to her surprise, Phil was smiling – actually smiling. He didn’t look disappointed in her at all. She flicked her gaze over towards May, and while her expression was a little harder to read, she didn’t look like she was upset either.

“What is it you like about lunch?” May asked. The corners of her mouth twitched up in a playful smile, and Skye felt herself lightening at the sight.

“I get to hang out with Jemma and Fitz and we can talk about whatever we want to. Sometimes Trip sits with us too, which is fun. Plus there’s no homework,” she joked.

“Skye, is there anything else that you think Phil and Melinda should know about regarding school?” Miss Hill asked. Skye scrunched her nose in thought.

“I am trying,” she finally said. “I know it doesn’t look like it, because I have a bunch of Ds and Fs and stuff, but I don’t really want to flunk out of this school. A lot of my classes are hard, but I like it here. I have friends here. I have Jemma.”

“Thank you for being so honest with us, Skye,” Miss Hill said as she flipped open the folder containing Skye’s work. “I want to start by saying that I’m glad to have you in my class this year, Skye. And I do not, under any circumstances, think that you are unintelligent or incapable of being as successful as you want to be. Ms. Amador in particular spoke very highly of you in her comments. She thinks you have a real knack for the work you do in her class.” Miss Hill shifted slightly in her seat and began to speak more directly to Phil and May. “Skye is very bright, and she has demonstrated a lot of creativity in several of her classes. Several teachers have made comments about her unique approach to problem-solving and her independent spirit.” Miss Hill smiled a little then, and Skye couldn’t tell how much of a compliment that was really supposed to be. She decided to give Miss Hill the benefit of the doubt and take it as a positive.

“Sometimes this means that Skye can be a little out of step with the rest of the class,” Miss Hill continued. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I know for me personally it helps me become a better teacher when I get to stretch myself to make sure I’m reaching everyone. There are several subjects in which Skye is not yet performing at grade level, which I think Skye is aware of, but I’m confident that progress can be made. In particular, her work in science and pre-algebra has been an area of concern, and I personally have noticed that reading comprehension in particular seems to be a little more challenging for Skye.”

A rushing sound was starting to build in Skye’s ears. Nothing Miss Hill was saying was untrue, she had said as much herself moments ago, but it still stung to hear it all out loud from an actual teacher. Phil and May might think the only thing that mattered was trying, but the rest of the world cared about if you passed the eighth grade or not.

“I’m sure the lack of consistency in Skye’s education has been a significant factor.” Miss Hill was still talking, but Skye was only taking in every other sentence or so. The rushing sound was getting louder, and her chest felt tight. Jemma squeezed her hand, reminding Skye to breathe.

“She’s making good progress at home,” came Phil’s voice. The rushing lessened and Skye forced herself to focus. “She and Jemma do their reading out loud together at home a lot of the time, and Skye’s really started to make headway, I think. What do you think, Skye? Has the reading out loud been getting easier for you?”

“Maybe,” Skye shrugged. “I guess I don’t mess up quite as many words as before. And I always remember the chapters better when we read them out loud instead of silently to ourselves.”

“That’s good to know,” Miss Hill said thoughtfully. “Different people learn best in different ways. It’s possible Skye is more of an auditory learner, so doing things like reading out loud may be an effective strategy to help her. Another one that might help is reducing distractions. A few teachers have noticed that focus can sometimes be an issue for Skye.”

“Is there a reason for that, Skye?” May asked. “Are you bored in class, or having trouble concentrating?”

“I don’t know,” Skye said, toeing at the ground. “Not bored exactly, I guess. It’s just hard to pay attention to stuff I’m not good at or not already thinking about.”

“How so?”

“It’s like…” Skye let out a huff of frustration as she tried to figure out how to explain the way her mind wandered off during classes she didn’t care for. “Like, if Mr. DeRosa is talking about nucleatrons or whatever—”

“Nucleons,” Jemma corrected quietly.

“Yeah, nucleons,” Skye amended. “If he’s talking about nucleons, but I’m not thinking about nucleons, then I’m thinking about nucleon sounds like nuke, which makes me think of microwaves. And then I’m wondering if microwaves use nuclear power to heat up food and if eating a bunch of stuff from microwaves is going to make us into mutants or something one day, and then I’m thinking about what it would be like to be a mutant person, and if I’d have any superpowers. Then I start to think about what the best superpowers are, and then I’m thinking about the Avengers and eating cereal on Saturdays and how I’ve never been in a house that watches Saturday morning cartoons like that, and then before I know it, the whole class is moved on to something totally different like life on Mars or something, and Mr. DeRosa is giving us a quiz, but all I’ve been thinking about is microwaves and superpowers.”

“But,” Skye continued, “if I’m in a class like computer science, and Ms. Amador is talking about the different ways we use JavaScript, I’ve already been thinking about that earlier in the day, and I want to hear more about it so that I can keep thinking about it later when there’s nothing else to think about. And then we get to actually _do_ the stuff we talk about, like we get onto the computers and practice things and troubleshoot and look for bugs and bad lines of code, so everything that Ms. Amador was talking about feels real, and like it matters, because we’re using it right then.” Skye wasn’t sure she had explained herself fully, but no one was looking at her like she had grown a second head or anything, so she hoped her rambling had been enough to satisfy them.

“That certainly sounds like it would make it hard to focus,” Miss Hill agreed. “And actually leads me to something I wanted to suggest to you and Melinda, Phil. If you’re thinking about setting up a meeting with Mrs. Hinton to talk about Jemma’s coursework, you may want to consider talking with her about Skye as well. Skye, what you were describing just now sounds like an experience that a lot of students have had over the years. Mrs. Hinton has helped a lot of kids figure out some strategies for better focus and concentration, and she might also be able to point you all towards some resources to help strengthen things like reading comprehension and some other important skills.”

“It might be a good idea,” Phil said, looking over at Skye to check for her opinion. “If Mrs. Hinton has some tools for us to practice, they might help make things a little easier. What do you think, Skye?”

“Is she a shrink or something?” Skye asked. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Or like one of those special teachers they send kids to when they can’t keep up in the main class?”

“She’s a guidance counselor,” Phil said. He looked uncharacteristically serious. “That means it’s her job to find ways to help students succeed, especially if they’re having trouble doing so in their classroom. And Skye, even if she was a special education teacher, there’s nothing wrong with that. You know that, don’t you? Special education is important. It creates a way for everyone to learn in a way that works best for them.” Skye felt her face go red.

“No, I know,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know special education is a good thing. Just sometimes other kids don’t see it like that.” Her mind flashed back to the sneers of Michaela Dodson and her cronies at St. Agnes, and the way they mocked Jemma for her tapping and flapping, or lambasted Skye for her poor grades. Back before Skye had learned to read, Michaela had been one of her biggest sources of torment on the matter, chucking books at Skye’s head when none of the nuns were around to try and ‘knock some brains into her thick skull,’ all the while laughing at Skye’s wild attempts to dodge the projectiles. “People can be jerks.”

“They absolutely can,” May nodded. “And they’re wrong. People who act like that are acting out of ignorance, or fear, or a lack of compassion.”

“Skye, I’d like to remind you that we do not tolerate bullying of any kind here at Manitowoc Middle,” Miss Hill cut in. Skye had to fight to keep her face straight. The leering face of Grant Ward was enough to prove Miss Hill wrong in an instant, but Skye knew better than to open that can of worms.

“Okay, fine,” Skye said finally. More than anything, she was ready for this meeting to be over. If agreeing to see the guidance counselor was what it was going to take for them to all be able to go home, then so be it. “We can talk to Mrs. Hinton.”

“Great,” Phil smiled. “We’ll start working on setting up a meeting, then.” He started to stand up then, but Miss Hill stopped him. Skye’s heart plummeted. She should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“There’s just one more thing,” Miss Hill informed them. “It’s clear how much work Skye is putting in, and really, I want to commend your efforts, Skye. I know it can’t be easy to start at a new school and to have so much to catch up on. I want you to know we see how hard you’re trying.” Skye offered the teacher a polite half smile, steeling herself for the ‘but.’

“But—” There it was. “There is the matter of grades. Right now, Skye’s grades aren’t where they need to be for her to pass the marking quarter. I have the upmost confidence that you’ll get there,” she added quickly, flashing Skye a smile that Skye did not return, “but the fact of the matter is, we need to consider some temporary intervention in order to get Skye where she needs to be.”

“I thought that was what the meeting with Mrs. Hinton was for…” May looked almost as dubious as Skye felt. Skye did not like where this was going.

“I think Mrs. Hinton is more of a long-term strategy,” Miss Hill explained. She seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. Skye guessed Miss Hill could tell that she and May were both on the defensive. “Essentially, what I’m getting at is the fact that I think it would be best to set Skye up with a tutor for the time being, just to help get her caught up and back on track.”

“A tutor?” Skye’s jaw fell open, like she was in a bad cartoon. “No, no way.”

“There are options,” Miss Hill tried to assuage her. “There are private tutors who specialize in middle school subjects, or some of the teachers here might be willing to work with you one on one after school—”

“I’m not doing that,” Skye said flatly. She knew she had sounded rude, but she meant what she said.

“Skye, please don’t interrupt your teacher,” Phil murmured. “I know you’re unhappy, but she’s trying to help.”

“That’s not going to help,” Skye protested. “I don’t want to sit around and get lectured for another extra hour after school, and I don’t want to do extra work. I’ll work harder, I promise. I’ll get better grades. I’ll sit at the table so still, Phil, and you can teach me stuff. You’re a good teacher.”

“I appreciate that,” he smiled. “But I think Miss Hill is suggesting something a little more intensive than our kitchen table think tank.”

“There’s also the tutoring program at the high school,” added Miss Hill. “Are you still running that, Phil?”

“No,” he said. “I passed that over to Ros a couple of years ago. It got bigger than what I could do by myself, plus she has better connections with some of the other schools for resources and things like that. But it’s a great program. Ros has really grown it into a tip top operation.”

“That’s another really good option, Skye,” said Miss Hill. “There are high school students who work with younger kids on the subjects they’ve already taken. It’s all in the high school library, and it’s right after school.”

“I don’t want to do that either,” pleaded Skye. “Why won’t you just let me get better on my own?”

“I’m sorry Skye, but it’s part of our policy here at school.” Miss Hill did look like she felt sorry, but not enough to change her position, apparently. “When a student’s grades fall below a certain point, this is what the school wants us to do in order to pick them back up. It’s designed to help you, I promise.”

“Is there a reason why you’re so against the idea of a tutor, Skye?” May asked. Skye felt like all of her sense were being flooded by feelings of frustration, betrayal, and anger. She had agreed to see the guidance counselor, but they were still making her do this thing that she so clearly didn’t want to do.

She couldn’t get her mouth to open or her brain to string together the right words. There had been a tutor who had come to St. Agnes three times a week, and things had not gone well with him, but she couldn’t make her words work the way she needed them to in order to explain.

Frustrated, she raked her hands through her hair and let out a disgruntled noise that sounded not too dissimilar from an angry bull. She was building up a head of steam towards a full-on outburst, but the feathery feeling of Jemma’s fingers brushing against her elbow stopped her in her tracks. Jemma knew. Jemma could tell them.

Casting her eyes sideways to make eye contact with Jemma, Skye nodded before ducking her head into her hands and propping her elbows on her knees in a posture of scrunched petulance.

“There was a man who would come to the orphanage,” Jemma explained slowly. “I suppose he was from the parish nearby. We were meant to call him Brother Jonathan, but we never saw him on Sundays when we went there for church. He was supposed to be the tutor. He wasn’t very nice.” Jemma paused and checked with Skye, who gave her another small nod to keep going. “He said horrible things to the people he didn’t think were very smart. He would make certain people stand in front of everyone else and recite things or work out sums, and he would laugh when you messed up and encourage everyone else to laugh, too. Sometimes he…” Jemma faltered. She took a steadying breath, began to tap soothingly on her knee, and continued. “He would put a dot of chalk on the board, just out of reach, and if you hadn’t done your recitation properly, he would make you stand on your tiptoes to put your nose on the dot and stay there until he decided you could stop.”

“I know it doesn’t sound so bad to have to stand still with your nose on a chalkboard,” Skye said through her hands, “but it was terrible. You had to stay on your tiptoes, otherwise your nose would leave the dot, and he would make you keep doing the math problem or reciting the thing you were supposed to learn while you were standing there. If you moved or messed up the answer, he had this yardstick that he’d swat at your legs. It didn’t hurt too bad, but it made it hard to keep standing, which would make you move, which would make him smack your legs again.”

“That’s awful,” May said quietly. “Skye, Jemma, I am so sorry you had to go through something like that.”

“That’s the kind of corporal punishment that’s banned from schools these days.” Mill Hill looked shaken and pale, like she had never considered that kind of brutal teaching method still persisted. “Is that legal? Can they do that?”

“In Wisconsin it’s banned in public schools, but private institutions can still teach and discipline as they see fit,” said Phil. His eyes looked heavy. “Most places understand that it’s frowned upon, but there are some that prefer the old-fashioned way.”

“Skye, I promise you that tutoring at the high school will be nothing like that,” Miss Hill assured her. “The students who do the tutoring are all very nice, and they’re selected by the teachers because they’re the kinds of kids who are kind and patient and who know how to help you learn.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You can choose what kind of tutor you’d like to work with,” Phil said. “Some of your teachers, or the high school program, or an outside professional… but you do have to pick one. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but those are the school rules until we can get your grades up to passing.”

“Will I have to go by myself?” Skye’s voice was small, and she grimaced at how pitiful she sounded. She couldn’t help it, though. Something about the idea of going to a tutor, even if it was another kid, made her feel about three inches tall.

“Not if you don’t want to,” promised May. “If you go to the high school, Phil can be right there with you. If Jemma or Bobbi wanted to come, they could, but you’d have to ask them first, of course. If you decide to go to one who’s not at the schools, then Phil or I will take you ourselves and stay with you the whole time.”

“Can I think about it?” The stress of the day and the rollercoaster of a conference has made Skye suddenly feel very tired, and she wasn’t sure she could make a clearheaded decision. She didn’t want to pick an option she was going to regret in a few weeks.

“Of course,” May said. She leaned over and rested a strong hand on Skye’s knee. “Skye, I know this doesn’t feel like a good thing right now, but we will do everything we can to make this as painless as possible. We’re very proud of you and Jemma for being brave enough to tell us about Jonathan, and we’re proud of how maturely you’re handling this.”

“Plus,” Phil supplied, “it won’t be forever. You’re a smart kid, and a hard worker, so I know your grades will be up in no time. Once that happens, you won’t have to go anymore.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Miss Hill. “I really do hate to be the barer of bad news, but I think this will really help you, Skye. I appreciate your cooperation and your willingness to try.”

* * *

The next few minutes were filled with handshakes, the exchanges of thank-yous and my pleasures, and with Miss Hill telling Skye and Jemma that she would see them tomorrow, and then, just like that, May, Phil, Skye, and Jemma were all back in the car and on their way home.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” May said, leaning back in the passenger seat and closing her eyes. “Maria is a lovely person, and I know she’s your friend, Phil, but that meeting was long.”

“You’re right,” Phil laughed. “It was a lot of information to take in, for sure. I’m going to be ready to take it easy the rest of the night. What about you girls? How are you feeling about the meeting?”

Neither Skye nor Jemma spoke, offering only a shrug and some light tapping instead. Skye was glad no one had harped on too long about her poor school performance, and no one seemed to think she was dumb, but the one-two punch of being forced to see the guidance counselor and to meet with a tutor had her reeling in a stew of complicated feelings. It seemed like May and Phil had been sticking up for her and Jemma, mostly, not letting them make Jemma change grades again and not acting like Skye was a waste of desk space in the classroom, but then they had gone and made her agree to the tutoring, even after Jemma had explained why tutors were bad news.

“It’s not easy to sit there and talk about yourself,” May commented. “And it’s not easy to sit there and hear other people talk about you, either. But you both did a great job.”

“We’re very proud of you,” Phil said. “Starting at a new school, making friends, learning new things. It can be challenging, but you both have already made some spectacular progress.”

“You mean it?” Jemma asked.

“I do,” said Phil. His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror so he could see Jemma while he spoke. “I mean every word of it. What you two have done so far is remarkable, and I know for a fact things will only get easier as time goes on.”

Skye knew he meant well, and she figured he probably believed what he said was true. She just wasn’t sure if she could ever believe it herself.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. Phil tried to make small talk as they all tucked into bowls of beef stew that had been simmering in the crockpot for hours, but even he didn’t have much to talk about. May had made an effort to ask how everyone’s day had been, and Bobbi mentioned that a girl who was in her French and Spanish classes had offered to teach her some Russian, too, but beyond that the conversations mostly fell flat.

“Who’s turn is it to wash the dishes?” Phil asked, once the bowls were empty and everyone’s stomachs were full.

“Mine,” said Bobbi, getting to her feet with a grimace. Skye didn’t blame her for making a face; nobody liked doing dishes, which is why they had all come up with the rotation in the first place.

“I’ll clear the table for you,” May offered. She stood then, too, and began collecting the bowls and spoons with crisp efficiency. “That way all you have to do is prop yourself up by the sink, instead of going back and forth.”

While May and Bobbi set to the task of cleaning up, Phil turned his attention on Jemma and Skye.

“Do you two have any homework left to do tonight? I know we had to cut things a little short this afternoon.”

“Just reading,” Jemma informed him. Skye shifted uncomfortably in her seat. In her mind’s eye, she could see the blank math worksheet sitting crumpled at the bottom of her backpack where she’d shoved it that afternoon, plus the chapter from _The Giver_ they were supposed to have finished and an assignment from Ms. Amador to find an error in a line of code on their class website and fix it. She couldn’t say she was particularly interested in doing any of those at the moment. Her brain already felt fried enough.

“So Skye, reading?” Phil pressed. “Anything else?”

“I have something for computer science. We’re supposed to fix some code for the class site. I can’t do it without a computer though, so I guess I’ll just wait until tomorrow…” She was hoping that little detail would grant her a small reprieve, but she had no such luck.

“I’m sure Melinda would let you borrow her computer tonight, if you needed it for school,” Phil said. “I’ll ask her right now. Why don’t you and Jemma do your reading first, and then we’ll get you set up on the computer.”

Her admittedly weak plan foiled, Skye trudged up the stairs after Jemma to go and grab her book, and the two of them made quick work of the chapter Miss Hill had assigned, thanks to Jemma’s lightning fast speedreading. When they returned downstairs, Phil had them recap the events of the chapter. Skye knew he was doing it mostly to make sure they had understood everything they needed to know, but she suspected that he was also more invested in the story than he let on.

“It’s really getting exciting, isn’t it?” he said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. It was nice to see his enthusiasm peaking out after such a hard and tiring day, and Skye found herself smiling in spite of herself.

“It’s okay, I guess. Still not my favorite book, but better than most of the stuff we have to read for school.”

“It’s hard to wait to know what’s going to happen next,” Jemma admitted. She looked a little bashful. “Fitz said he’s already finished the whole thing weeks ago, and he keeps trying to tell me how it ends, but I won’t let him. I want us to find out for ourselves.”

“You’ve got stronger willpower than some people in this house,” May joked, coming into the kitchen holding her laptop under one arm. “Phil always flips to the last page before he finishes. I don’t think he can help himself.” She finished with a mock whisper and cheeky wink, which made Phil laugh.

“The anticipation is just too much,” he protested, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I don’t read as fast as you, and I have to know how things end before you accidentally spoil them.”

“I do not spoil things,” May gasped. Skye could tell she was only pretending to be upset, throwing her hand over her heart like Phil had mortally wounded her with his accusation. “I’m a much better secret-keeper than you.”

“You didn’t peak at the end of _The Giver_ , did you Phil?” Jemma asked worriedly. “We’re supposed to read it together.”

“No,” Phil assured her. “I’ve managed to stay strong for you. It’s been hard, because it’s such a good book, but I promise, we’ll all discover the ending to that one together.”

“That’s very nice of you, Phil,” smiled Jemma. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said jovially. Switching gears, he turned to May. “Alrighty Mel, what do we need to do with this computer?”

“I can set it up at the table for you, Skye,” May offered. “Or, if it won’t be a distraction, you can bring it into the den. Bobbi’s got the TV on, and we’d love your company, but I want you to be able to focus.”

“I can do it in the den,” Skye said. “I’m used to doing stuff on the computer while things are going on around me.” It was true. Normally if she needed to work on the computer, she would do it on one at school, where countless distractions were present in the form chatty kids, nosy teachers, and the symphony of slamming lockers and ringing bells.

“Okay, then, den it is.”

They all joined Bobbi in the den then, which had been turned back into its normal state, since Bobbi’s real bed had been delivered to the bedroom upstairs a few days after she had first moved in. Bobbi had some goofy sitcom rerun on, but it didn’t bother Skye in the least. If anything, the white noise of canned laughter helped her concentration, which didn’t exactly make sense, but she wasn’t about to question it. Phil laughed right along with the fake audience on the show, and Skye caught the others cracking smiles at the antics of the characters on screen, despite the cheesiness of the plotline and dialogue.

May had given her the password to log onto the laptop, and once Skye was in, she couldn’t help but feel electrified by the excitement of having a working computer in her hands. It was like her fingertips were tingling at the prospect of flying across the keyboard. She pulled open a web browser and quickly plugged in the information she needed to access the site where Ms. Amador had posted their assignment.

It took Skye only minutes to spot and correct the erroneous line of code, something she had to admit she was pleased about. Ms. Amador had warned them that it might take a while, but Skye had finished entirely before the first commercial break on the TV. Something about computer codes just clicked in her brain far better than words on a book page or numbers on a math sheet, and she loved the rush of satisfaction that she got when the site followed the instructions embedded into its digital DNA and ran as it was supposed to.

She was about to close out of the browser when she noticed in the corner that May’s email was still logged in. A horrible, shameful thought wormed its way into Skye’s brain, and as much as she wished she could just pull it out of her head like it was a memory going into the Pensive in Harry Potter, the idea had firmly lodged itself right at the front and center of her thoughts. If May’s email was open, then it would only take a couple of clicks for Skye to head to the inbox and find the email from Miss Hand containing the scans of her and Jemma’s files. The whole thing, not just the stripped-down digital version Skye had found on the St. Agnes computer, but the entire hardcopy, scanned in by Miss Hand and emailed right to May’s address.

Guilt twinged somewhere deep in Skye’s stomach, and she knew that she shouldn’t even be thinking about violating May’s privacy like that. Still, she couldn’t get the idea to leave her alone. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done things she shouldn’t have with computers before. She had cracked into the St. Agnes servers more than once, trying to find information on her parents or to gently edit her disciplinary record. She had once managed to find a backdoor into the online gradebook used at one of her old schools and bumped her grades up by half a letter so that she wouldn’t have to repeat the 7th grade. Of course, she had been caught and punished eventually for each of those indiscretions (and it had turned out that she didn’t need to repeat the grade anyway), so her track record wasn’t exactly flawless, but she’d had very few qualms about what she was doing at the time. And while this felt a little different, since this was about May’s privacy just as much as it was about Skye’s file, the sneaky voice in the back of her mind kept trying to convince her that it wouldn’t really _hurt_ anything just to look at that one email. And besides, Skye reasoned, it wasn’t like she was going to go snooping for any of May’s personal information, just her own.

May must have noticed that Skye had stopped typing, because she looked up then to check on her.

“Finished already? That was fast.” She looked impressed, and Skye felt the truth spill out of her before she could come up with anything else.

“Um, yeah,” she said, closing the lid of the laptop with a finality that made her heart sink. She had missed her window of opportunity. “It ended up not being all that hard, so it went quick.”

“You’ve really got a knack for that,” May smiled encouragingly. “Those skills will be very valuable to you one day when you’re looking for a job.”

“You think so?” Skye cocked her head to one side. She didn’t really spend a lot of time thinking about future careers. The “what do you want to be when you grow up?” question quit being cute by the time you hit double digits, and the nuns hadn’t exactly been the most encouraging when it came to developing professional skills. For all the years that Skye had lived at St. Agnes, she didn’t think she had ever heard of one of the orphans going to college once they turned 18 and had to leave. Of course, the older teenagers stayed in their own wing of the building for the most part, so Skye didn’t always know what was going on with them, but still, she figured she would have heard if something as big as college happened for a St. Agnes kid.

“I do,” May told her. “Not that you need to be worried about something like that right now, but if you still like computers this much when you’re older, there are lots of things you can do to earn a living that would let you do computer science all day.”

“My dad works… worked…” Bobbi scrunched her nose up momentarily as she considered her phrasing. “My dad’s company does a bunch of stuff with software,” she settled. “He’s on the sales side, but there were a bunch of people who did design and coding and stuff like that. It was all mostly over my head, but he’d complain about sometimes, and I’d pick up bits and pieces.”

“And there’s cyber security,” Jemma added. “Remember what Fitz was talking about the other day? About how the Pentagon hired that person who had accessed their files so that they could help design better security to keep it from happening again?”

“All good options,” Phil said. “Although maybe let’s not try to hack the Pentagon,” he added with a wink.

“I’ll do my best to resist temptation,” Skye promised.

“It’s pretty smart, when you think about it, though,” mused Bobbi. “Hire the guy who was working against you so that he works for you instead. Although it doesn’t say much about his own loyalty.”

“Different people have different loyalties, I suppose,” May said thoughtfully. “It sounds like he was the kind of person who was loyal to whoever was paying the bills.”

“I don’t think that sounds loyal at all,” Jemma remarked. “You should stick by the people who matter to you even if they don’t have any money.”

“But what if you don’t matter to the people who matter to you?” countered Skye. The conversation was beginning to sound a little like their lunchtime debates with Fitz, and Skye felt herself getting excited to parse out all of the different sides. “You can’t blame someone for not being loyal if they’re not getting the same thing back. The people the Pentagon guy was working for before let him get in trouble and take the blame. He was lucky the Pentagon people didn’t throw him in jail.”

“That’s true.” Jemma frowned, considering Skye’s point. “Maybe there needs to be trust in order for there to be loyalty, too. That’s what makes it real loyalty.”

“So then I guess the real question is about who do you trust,” Skye decided. She furrowed her brow. The question of who to trust was one of her least favorite ones. It was one that she had answered incorrectly too many times and been hurt by too many more.

“Is this the kind of thing the two of you talk about with Fitz all the time?” Phil asked. Skye and Jemma both nodded. “I’m impressed. You’d both fit right in to the debate days I have with my classes.” Jemma got that embarrassed little smile on her face that she got when she was really pleased with herself but was too polite and humble to admit it, and Skye felt her own chest puff up a little with pride. She may be failing her classes at school, and she might be going to see a tutor for the foreseeable future, but Phil thought she could fit in with a high school class, or at least, their debate.

“I hate to put a stop to the think tank in progress,” May said as she stood and switched off the TV, “but it’s getting late and we should all start getting ready for bed, I think. It’s been a full day.”

May wasn’t met with much resistance, and half an hour later, Skye and Jemma were showered, in pajamas, and clambering into bed. It was May who came to check on them both before they sent to sleep that night, and she paused in the doorway on her way out.

“Today was a little bit of a bumpy day,” she said slowly. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “But you both did really well. I know we’ve already said it, but Phil and I truly are very proud of you. I know it’s not easy to sit there and listen to people talk about you, or to have to talk about yourself for that matter.” She smiled then, almost bashfully, and Skye was filled with the sense that May probably hated talking about herself as much as she and Jemma did. The thought didn’t surprise her.

“Also, Skye,” May said after a beat. “I want you to know that we heard you. About the tutor, I mean. I know it might not seem like it, since at the moment you’ll still have to go, but it’s not because we didn’t hear you when you told us you didn’t want to go, or when you explained why.” Skye felt her ears grow warm. She had hoped that they could have tabled the tutor talk until a later date.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled. “I have to do stuff I don’t want to all the time. It’s no big deal.”

“It would be okay if it was a big deal,” said May seriously. “I had no idea about the tutor at St. Agnes. There was nothing in your…” She stopped herself and took a breath before resetting. “I just mean… if you really don’t want to go – if going to see a tutor is going to be upsetting to you – then Phil and I will talk, and we’ll figure something else out. I know it’s school policy, but I don’t want to make you do something that might make you feel uncomfortable. Sometimes in life there are things we have to do, no matter what, but a lot of life allows you to set boundaries for yourself. If this is a boundary that you don’t want to be crossed, Phil and I will do our best to respect that. I’m sorry we didn’t make that clear sooner.”

Skye’s eyebrows had crept up her forehead as May spoke. She could barely believe what she was hearing. May was saying that she didn’t have to see the tutor if she didn’t want to. She was _apologizing_ for making it seem like Skye didn’t have a choice. Almost nothing in Skye’s life had been left up to her choice. She didn’t get to choose which houses she got moved into, or when she got sent back to St. Agnes. She didn’t get to choose her school, or what she ate for dinner, or what clothes got handed to her from out of the donation bin. That was just the way things worked when you were a kid, much less a foster kid. But here May was not only telling her there was a choice, but apologizing for not offering it sooner. Skye was, to use one of Jemma’s favorite words, gobsmacked.

The more she thought about it, though, the more she decided that there were worse things to be forced (or asked) to do than go see a high school kid after school for help with math. Phil had said he would be there, and that Jemma could come. There would be teachers there to make sure that nothing bad happened. And, if she was being totally honest, she could use the extra help. Still, there was a tantalizing kind of power in being able to say that going to the tutor was something she agreed to. Something she said yes to because she could, not because she had to. Her answer felt like spun sugar on her tongue, sweet and delicate and exciting.

“It’s okay, really.” Skye made sure to look May in the eyes to let her know that she was telling the truth. “I’m fine with it now. As long as the tutor’s not like Brother Jonathan, it’ll be okay.”

“I can promise you they won’t be. No one should ever treat someone else that way, and the teachers will make sure that the tutor is doing a good job.” May shook her head with residual disbelief and spoke almost to herself then. “I still can’t believe the nuns allowed something like that to go on. Or that they didn’t say anything about it in the files.”

Skye’s ears perked up. May was talking about the files – their files. And apparently Brother Jonathan wasn’t in them. She wasn’t sure if she should be surprised or not at the absence of Brother Jonathan in their records. On the one hand, Skye had had numerous run-ins with the dour tutor, and had received a number of disciplinary actions resulting from her disputes with him. The nuns usually kept a good record of all of the demerits and episodes of wrongdoing. But on the other, Skye had always suspected that certain things got left out or covered up, so as not to dissuade potential foster families or make St. Agnes look too bad for the social workers.

A dangerous thrumming was returning to Skye’s body, buzzing in her mind and electrifying her bones. If the nuns left out Brother Jonathan, what else had they left out? If they had no problems leaving things out, would they have problems putting things in that weren’t true? What if the picture they painted of Skye’s life was entirely fabricated, designed specifically to make her appealing to potential families? Or even worse, designed to prevent good people from wanting to take her home? Was her file the reason why almost every house she had ever lived in had been nothing short of miserable? Or was it just because it was the kind of bum luck she deserved?

Skye tried to settle down once May had bid them goodnight, but as she lay there in the dark waiting fruitlessly for sleep to come, a single, solitary decision calcified at the very center of her brain. She had to see what was in that file. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got real long, but hopefully it was worth the read! :)


	26. Skye's File

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of violence, physical abuse, ableism

The guilty part of Skye's brain – the part where the little Jiminy Cricket lived and whispered that most of Skye's impulsive ideas were bad ones that were going to get her into trouble or get someone hurt – was working overtime as she lay there in the dark, listening to Jemma's heavy breathing. The sounds of the house had settled around her as she tossed and turned: the water running for Bobbi's shower, the solid footsteps of Phil coming upstairs and going into his bedroom, the exhale of the day sinking over them all like a heavy blanket. Jiminy Cricket said it was a bad idea, but Skye knew she had to see that file, and she had to do it soon before she lost her nerve again.

Even though she was fast asleep, Skye could hear Jemma's protests in her mind. Often Jemma's voice and Jiminy Cricket's lumped together until they were one in the same, speaking in unison. _That's not a good idea_ , Jemma would say. Her face would be all scrunched up and worried-looking. _Skye, that's private. And you might get caught, and then you'll be in awful trouble._

"Well then I won't get caught," Skye whispered to the little Jemma in her head. The real Jemma didn't stir. "I have to know, Jemma. I have to know what they're telling people about me. About us. And who knows? Maybe there'll be something in there about…" A sharp breath lodged itself in Skye's chest before she could finish the thought. That might be too much to hope for right now. _About your parents_ , Jiminy-Jemma said. _Skye, I know you're desperate to know about them, but that's not a good idea either._

Skye had had this conversation with Jemma – the real Jemma – before. She had never told Jemma about the aching empty space she felt deep inside of her. Some things were too private for even best friends. But Skye had told Jemma more than once that she intended to find her parents one day. Jemma tried to be sympathetic about it, but she couldn't keep herself from rattling off all the ways it could go wrong.

"You might not like what you find out," she had warned. "They might not be alive anymore. They might not be able to take of you. They might not be nice."

"I know that," Skye had said, with more confidence than she really had. "But they might also be good people who have been looking for me this whole time. Even if they're not, I at least want to know. I want to know where I came from. Besides," she pointed out, "aren't you the one who always says discovery is one of life's gifts?"

"Yes," Jemma admitted. Her face was puckered with concern. "But some gifts are better left unopened."

Skye had dropped the subject back then, but thinking about it now, she shook her head in utter bemusement. What good was a present if you didn't open it? Even if it was a crummy present that you wanted to give back, like the little ceramic angel statues with the dopey faces that the nuns gave them for Christmas every year, at least you got something out of it. Those angel statues had wings made out of bent wire that Skye repurposed into her computer circuitry, so they weren't completely useless. Even if her file was filled with stuff she didn't want to see, at least she would know what she was up against.

Skye wasn't sure how long she waited, but it felt like ages had crawled by before she decided everyone was long asleep and not likely to catch her creeping around. Jemma was out like a light, and the sound of Bobbi's crutches thumping against the baseboards had stopped a long time ago. May and Phil were a little harder to gauge, but Skye knew she had been able to sneak in and out of Jemma's room before without detection back when they were still supposed to be in separate rooms, so she was reasonably confident in her ability to slip down to May and Phil's office without waking anyone up.

Kicking the sheets back, Skye slid out of bed and set her feet on the floor. She eased her way across the room and to the door, ears trained for sounds of stirring. Jemma's breathing continued to hold slow and steady, even as Skye turned the handle and pushed the door open with the lightest touch she could manage. Years of sneaking around to avoid angry foster parents or to slip food from the kitchen had trained her well.

She had almost no difficulty creeping down the stairs, and she avoided the creaky step that was second from the bottom. The first floor was nearly pitch dark, but Skye's eyes adjusted quickly, and she slipped towards the office where she knew May had returned the computer before bed.

As she suspected, the laptop was sitting where she thought it would be: right on top of May's desk, plugged in and practically waiting for her to wake it up. Skye perched herself on the desk chair and popped the lid of the computer up. The screen erupted in bright blue light, which sent Skye reeling for a moment until she found the brightness key and dimmed the screen to a less painful level. Rubbing the spots out of her eyes with one hand, she pecked out the computer password that May had shown her with the other, and soon the laptop was unlocked and at her command.

The little Jemma voice in her head was begging her to stop before she went too far and got to a point where she couldn't go back, but Skye ignored it and opened the web browser, clicking over to the tab where May's email was sitting there waiting to be read. Rather than scroll though several weeks' worth of personal emails, Skye quickly plugged Miss Hand's name into the search bar at the top of the page, hoping that the woman would pop up as a contact. She told herself that this was the way to make what she was doing less invasive. This way, she wouldn't look at any email from anyone other than Miss Hand, and she wouldn't browse through the whole inbox.

Luck was on her side, apparently, because a contact for Victoria Hand jumped right to the top of the suggested results, and Skye wasted no time in clicking on her social worker's name to narrow the inbox. At the top were a couple of emails that looked more causal in nature. One had the subject line "Dinner Plans (because Izzy keeps forgetting to call you)" and had a few replies logged back and forth. Skye wondered if this meant that Miss Hand and the mysterious Izzy would be stopping by the house at some point, but didn't dwell on the question. Another email was titled "Checking in, Re: the girls." That one piqued Skye's interest instantly. She chewed on her lip momentarily, debating whether or not an email conversation about her counted as being within the scope of her investigation.

Something above her creaked, and Skye froze in terror. Holding her breath, she waited a solid thirty seconds before she dared to move again. She inched two fingers over to the ALT and F4 keys, in case she needed to plunge the screen to black at a moment's notice, but another minute ticked by without another sound, and Skye decided that the noise was caused by the old house settling.

Chastened by the scare, however, Skye opted not to spend her potentially scarce time on the check-in email. She was here for her file, and that was it. She scrolled past a forwarded listicle on "The 10 reasons why people who practice tai chi make the best friends" and another one requesting a file from "the McMillan case." She was a little surprised at how frequently May and Miss Hand seemed to be in contact with one another. She had underestimated what they meant when they told her and Jemma that they were friends who also sometimes worked together, she supposed, but in her defense, grownups said all the time that they were friends with people who they barely talked to more than twice a year.

She was about to abandon the search and try a new keyword when she saw it. The subject line read "Wisconsin Department of Children and Families – Social Services: File Poots, File Simmons," and Skye probably would have skipped over it for being so long if her eye hadn't latched onto the unfortunate name that was supposed to be hers. _It was hard to overlook a word like "poots,"_ Skye thought with a grimace. Taking a steeling breath, Skye stretched out her hand and clicked on the email.

_May,_ the email began, _attached are_ _Jemma and Skye's files. I know the documents all say Mary Sue Poots, but she prefers Skye. I'm sure you've got that already. Some of the older records are a little hard to read, since they're handwritten, but everything should be scanned in for both girls. Don't hesitate to reach out with questions or concerns, either by email or on my cell. You have both. I can't thank you and Phil enough for what you're doing. I know the two of you are going to be great._

The email was signed with one of those form signatures that had Miss Hand's full name and job title, and Skye had to smile a little at the formality of it. She scrolled past the signature and to the bottom, where two attachments were sitting there, just waiting to be read. Both documents were labeled with strings of indiscernible numbers, so Skye clicked on the first one and waited with bated breath for the file to load up on her screen.

It was Jemma's, Skye realized after a minute of scrolling through the first couple of pages. She meant to close out of it right away and switch over to her own, but the words "Return Report," which were emblazoned across the heading of a page in bright red letters caught her attention. She had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Was Jemma getting sent back? Skye did her best to pick through the dense document, and while a lot of it made about as much sense as something written in the wingdings font, she was able to piece together that it was a report that Miss Hand had to file every time Jemma went back to St. Agnes. The one Skye had landed on was from Jemma's most recent return, when she had come back from the Williams' house.

While the Williams' hadn't been the very worst people Jemma had ever lived with, as far as Skye was concerned, they were up there. According to Jemma, they had acted all nice and excited to have her when she had first arrived, but they very quickly discovered that they had no idea how to take care of someone as like Jemma. Jemma told Skye about how they had forced her to look them in the eye at all times, and had taped her fingers together with duct tape so that she wouldn't tap or fidget with them.

Skye knew that not being able to tap always made Jemma upset, sometimes even more than whatever thing she needed to tap about in the first place, so it wasn't difficult for her to imagine how hard it must have been for Jemma to live in a place where she couldn't comfort herself or practice any of her usual tricks for calming down. That was why she hadn't been shocked when Jemma explained about how she started melting down much more easily at the Williams' house than was normal for her. What had shocked her were the ways in which Jemma had been punished for her behavior.

"They would get so angry," she had told Skye. She had been tapping like mad while she recounted the story, and Skye could tell it was getting to an especially bad part, because Jemma had started rock back and forth, ever so slightly. "They kept shouting at me to stop acting like a toddler. They said they didn't tolerate tantrums in their house, and that I had to learn self-discipline. When I couldn't stop, they would send me to the corner." That was where Jemma had picked up the habit of knocking her head against the wall. It was what the Williams' had made her do when she couldn't get control of herself, and it made Skye feel sick just to think about.

"If I didn't do it properly, Mr. Williams would take my head and do it himself," she had whispered to Skye, tears streaming down her face. "Or if he wasn't there, Mrs. Williams would get the broom." She shuddered, and it took several minutes before she spoke again. "She would swat at me, knock me about. The pieces of the brush were so scratchy, and the handle was heavy. It was made of wood, I think. She didn't like to touch me, but she would use the broom to make sure I was doing my punishment right. It never helped me calm down, it just made everything worse."

"Obviously," Skye had said, agape. "Who thinks that smacking a kid when she's upset is going to make her calm down? They're basically evil, Jemma. It's not your fault that they don't know how to be decent human beings."

"At least it only took them a few weeks to send me back," Jemma murmured. "Not like…"

"We don't need to talk about them," Skye said quickly. As bad as the Williamses were, Skye knew nothing would ever truly compare to the Walkers. She didn't want to make Jemma anymore more upset than she was by making her think about the torment she had endured under the "care" of Keith and Vanessa Walker. "Does Miss Hand know? About the Williamses, I mean?"

"No, not everything," Jemma said, ducking her head. "I couldn't tell her."

That was why Skye wasn't surprised to see that Miss Hand's return report seemed like a fairly standard document. It listed the reason for return as "incompatible family match," which Skye had to scoff at. The rest of the page listed things like dates of placement and a bunch of other things Skye couldn't fully understand. In the margin of the page, she saw a handwritten note, that she assumed was made by Miss Hand herself. The handwriting was small and neat, and was printed in all capital letters, which Skye thought was interesting.

_Parents claimed not able to support Jemma's needs. Jemma appears distressed following time with them. Follow up is needed. Potential investigation?_ Skye raised her eyebrows. She should have given Miss Hand more credit. She was the best social worker either one of them had ever had, and she was the type of person to notice when things weren't right with her kids. Even though Jemma had never told Miss Hand what had gone on with the Williamses, the woman was smart enough to see past the incompatibility baloney that the foster parents had tried to feed her.

Curious, Skye scrolled quickly through more pages of the file. She didn't linger too long on any particular page, partially to save time, partially because a lot of the material was hard for her to decipher, and mostly because she felt more than a little guilty for looking at Jemma's personal history, even though she had been there for so much of it.

There were other return reports, several that listed similar reasons, like "wrong fit," "unable to meet needs," or "not a good lifestyle match," and the one from the Walkers that was suspiciously devoid of any real information or truth. Skye knew that social services knew what had happened in that home – that was why Jemma's case had been transferred over to Miss Hand instead of the negligent social worker she'd had prior – but so far nothing in the file seemed to document it beyond a vague mention of unfit parents and a notation about "evidence of mistreatment or harm to the child."

She scrolled past school records, test scores, a birth certificate from the UK, and medical records that did document Jemma's broken arm from the car crash that killed her parents, but that didn't mention the scoliosis surgery Jemma had undergone as a child before she was orphaned or the weeks it took for the burns on her fingertips to heal after she had been returned from Mrs. Patrick. Mrs. Patrick had been a severe elderly woman who thought that the best way to rid an eight-year-old Jemma of flappy hands and twitchy fingers was to have her press her fingertips onto a hot stove until she didn't want to tap them anymore. It had been a blessing when the cranky old woman had decided she'd rather move to Florida to be closer to her sister and had dropped Jemma off at St. Agnes on her way to the airport. That, at least, was in the file.

Skye felt a burning in her throat as she read page after page of notes and documents downplaying the horrible things Jemma had gone through. It was like the nuns at St. Agnes wanted to pretend like nothing bad had ever happened to Jemma. They were happy to put in pages that showed Jemma scoring in the top percentiles on all of her school exams, but they brushed everything else under the rug. It made Skye's blood boil.

The last page of Jemma's file had a handwritten intake form that must had been filed when Jemma first arrived at St. Agnes. It detailed the car accident, how long Jemma had lived in the US, and took stock of Jemma's personality. _Quiet girl, very shy,_ it said. A few lines down, a new piece of handwriting mentioned that Jemma was strong academically but socially challenged, and a third handwriting stressed the importance of finding Jemma a patient, stable home with minimal stressors. _Well, at least they got one thing right,_ Skye thought. But then again, what kid didn't want a stable, stress-free home?

At the very bottom of the scanned page was taped a tattered photograph of Jemma that Skye figured must have been taken not long after she arrived at St. Agnes. Her right arm was encased in a cast, and she was missing a front tooth, as many six-year-olds often were. She was posed for the camera, but she wasn't looking at it, her eyes instead cast downwards and full of palpable fear and grief. It wasn't exactly a flattering photo, but Skye couldn't blame Jemma. She had just lost her parents and been sent to a strange, new place – of course she would look sad and scared in her picture.

Deciding that she'd had enough of Jemma's file, Skye clicked out of the document and opened the next one. Hers. She paused before she started reading, listening hard to make sure the house was still asleep. After determining that she was well and truly the only one awake, Skye turned her attention fully back to the screen in front of her.

A lot of the material seemed to be the same: school and medical records, return reports that more often than not left out the most important details, and the like. The reasons listed on Skye's return reports were substantially more varied than Jemma's. The one from Mrs. Murphy specified that she wouldn't continue to care for a "violent child who took pleasure in destroying personal property and endangering others," which Skye felt was a little harsh for a five-year-old who had kicked over a chair because she was tired of being strapped to it. A few mentioned Skye's scuffles with other kids living in the home, like the one from the Bryants, while others mentioned her disciplinary problems, or her inability to keep from bouncing off the walls, and one even cited Skye's "flagrant and blatant disregard for basic rules or the laws of society." That one had come from the house where Skye had gotten caught trying to change her grades online, and Skye was almost amused at how indignant the comment sounded. Like she was the first kid ever in the history of the world to try and bump up her grades. The one from Mr. Erikson made no mention of his habit of chucking snow boots at kids' heads, although there was a handwritten note from Miss Hand on that one. _Skye asked me to not send any other children there. Declined to elaborate. Will look into._ Skye was pleased to see that Miss Hand had taken her seriously about that one.

The report from the Palmers made Skye's throat go tight. She had stayed with the Palmers when she was six, and they had been the best family she had ever had, at least before May and Phil. They were a kind older couple who had never had biological children of their own, but who had fostered countless kids before Skye went to stay with them. They were the first family Skye actually thought could have been a forever, until Mrs. Palmer was diagnosed with cancer and they couldn't take care of her anymore. That report held apologetic comments from the Palmers, and hopes that Skye would find another good home until Mrs. Palmer got better. A handwritten comment, presumably from Mr. Bridger, her social worker at the time, informed Skye that Mrs. Palmer had passed away less than a year later. The corners of her eyes burned with hot tears, but she blinked them back before they could fall. She hadn't known that Mrs. Palmer had died, and she was caught off guard by how sad she suddenly felt to learn it.

She forced herself to keep reading, determined not to dwell on her sorrow or allow herself to be overcome with all of the complicated emotions that she was sure would come with mourning Mrs. Palmer. She didn't want to think about how one of the only foster parents who had ever been nice to her was dead, or about how sad and lonely Mr. Palmer must be without his wife. She gave herself a shake and imagined she was shoving her memories of the Palmers into lockbox in a dark corner in the back of her brain. She had to keep pressing forward.

The next section was filled with various disciplinary reports from the nuns and from all of the schools Skye had attended over the years. Jemma's file had been markedly lacking in these, but Skye had expected to find scores in her own file. Many of the reports were ones she had seen before, from her previous attempts to access Sister Margaret's computer, and she didn't linger long on the numerous pages listing out every fight with Michaela Dodson and the other bullies at St. Agnes, every instance where Skye had talked back to a teacher or disobeyed instructions from one of the nuns, and every minor misstep or moment of misconduct Skye had ever been accused of. None of the reports ever mentioned Skye's reasons for doing the things she did, or the fact that she was rarely the one to start trouble, but she had expected as much. The nuns almost never took her side or believed her when she tried to explain that she had been fighting Michaela the Medusa out of self-defense or that she lost her temper in school because her teacher was making her feel dumb.

Looking through all of her return reports and page after page of all of her documented wrongdoings, it was a wonder anyone ever wanted to take her home at all. If she was a potential foster parent, she would have thought the girl in the file was dangerous, difficult, and violent. The girl in the file was a lost cause.

A weird, sour feeling started to writhe around in the pit of Skye's stomach. She had never thought of herself as any of those things, not really. She knew she was lousy at school, and that she got in trouble all the time, and that she had never been very good at doing things like listening to directions, but she had never truly considered the fact that, to most people, she amounted to little more than a problem child who was well on her way to full-on delinquency. To other people, she probably looked like a hopeless case. It was no wonder the only families that ever wanted to take her in were the ones who didn't actually seem to care about their kids, or the ones who thought that if you smacked a kid around enough, you could knock some obedience into them. If she was the person that her file made her out to be, then she didn't really deserve to live in a nice house with kind and attentive foster parents. If she was the person that her file made her out to be, then she didn't deserve to live with people like May and Phil. After all, they had agreed to foster her before they had even seen her file. They had come for Jemma, and had ended up getting stuck with her, too, but they hadn't known what they were getting themselves into.

The sour feeling in her stomach was starting to claw its way towards her throat as she imagined how disappointed Phil and May must have been when they finally looked at her file and saw that they had been swindled into taking home a kid as rotten as her. And now, here she was, hacking into May's email and snooping around where she didn't belong.

Guilt surged up again inside of her, but this time it was mixed around with another feeling – a more defiant one that was slowly starting to overpower the guilt. If she really was as bad as her file said she was, then why not embrace it? Why not be as bad as everyone thought she was? She was already going to be neck deep in trouble if she got caught, so why not make the most of it while she still had the opportunity?

* * *

Skye could tell she was nearing the end of the file, because the Skye being documented in the pages was getting younger and younger. Skye sucked in a breath through her teeth as her cursor landed on the last page. Her intake report. Jemma's had detailed the circumstances of her arrival, including the car crash and the identity of her parents, so if there was going to be any place where Skye could find a clue about her own parents, this page would be it. She squinted at the screen and was dismayed to see that the file was entirely handwritten and entirely in a spidery cursive that must have been scrawled by a very old nun who still believed in the importance of extra curlicues on all of her words. Skye had enough trouble reading printed words, but cursive was practically impossible. Everything looked like caterpillars crawling across the page, but Skye knew she couldn't let that stop her.

_July 4_ _th_ _. Baby girl found on doorstey,_ the report began. Skye decided that the word was probably _doorstep_ , even though the last letter definitely didn't look like a "p" to her. _No idimti-_ Skye knit her eyebrows together, trying to decipher the unholy handwriting. _Identification,_ she realized. _No identification with child, no information. Child wearing only standard-issue sleeper and blanket from Ames' Memorial. Age unknown, appears to be between 0 and 2 months. Race unknown, possibly mixed._ Skye scowled at that. Apparently, people had been preoccupied with her ethnicity from the moment she arrived at St. Agnes, although why it mattered for a baby on the doorstep, she couldn't fathom.

Her eyes flitted back over to the phrase "standard-issue sleeper and blanket from Ames' Memorial." She wasn't exactly sure what a sleeper was, but Ames' Memorial was definitely the name of the hospital closest to St. Agnes. She had heard it mentioned more than once, as various children over the years had made trips there for things like broken arms and appendectomies, and if she had been wearing a blanket from that hospital, then maybe it meant that she had been born there 0 to 2 months before the 4th of July. An electric current of excitement zipped up her spine and she could feel her heart pounding away in her chest.

_Birthdate unknown,_ the file continued. _For recording purposes, date of birth will be recorded as May 27_ _th_ _, the Holy Day of Pent-_ Skye had no idea what that word was supposed to be. It looked like it said Pent-cost, but she had never seen it before, so she couldn't be sure that was really what it said. _Name unknown. Name will be given as Mary, for our Blessed Mother, Sue, for St. Susanna U Surim, the Korean martyr, to honor the child's potential heritage, and Poots, for Sister Norma Poots, the founder and original patron of St. Agnes' Orphanage._

Skye had never been told where her name had come from. She had always just assumed the nuns pulled it out of a random book of names they kept on hand, or that someone had thought it would be funny to stick a kid with a terrible name like Mary Sue Poots. Knowing the various namesakes didn't exactly make Skye like her legal name any better, but she appreciated the small bits of insight nonetheless. She wasn't sure how she felt about being named after a Korean saint when the nuns clearly didn't have any idea if she was actually Korean or not, but she supposed it was at least an attempt at a nice gesture, even if it was probably a misguided one.

There wasn't much else that Skye could read on the intake report, since the crabby cursive started to get even spikier and harder to read as the page went on, but Skye felt like she probably wasn't missing much else. The few words she could make out seemed to be describing her disposition as a baby, since she could pick out things like "fussy" and "not easily soothed."

Just like with Jemma's, a photograph was taped to the bottom of the intake form. This one was even more torn and faded, but Skye could see the red and wrinkled face of a tiny baby poking out from inside of a blanket. The baby had a tuft of dark hair and her face was screwed up like she was getting ready to start screaming. Skye smiled in spite of herself. That baby was her. She had never seen a picture of herself as a baby, and here she was, spitting mad and ready to tell somebody about it. There was something oddly comforting in knowing that some facets of her personality seemed to have been present since birth.

After lingering on the photo for a few moments more, Skye eventually clicked out of the file and sat back in the desk chair, trying to take it all in. The defiant feeling that had started to build up after she had read all of her disciplinary reports was still kicking around, creating a dangerous combination with the electric excitement that had overwhelmed her when she had pieced together the place and timeframe of her birth. The nascent beginnings of an idea began to take shape in her head, and before she had a plan fully formed, Skye found herself clicking open a new tab and firing up a google search on Ames' Memorial Hospital and Sheboygan County public records. She followed the search to an official-looking government site that told her she would need to submit a formal request in order to access any public records. She tried the hospital website next, but everything she found there was about scheduling appointments, finding doctors, and what to do in case of a medical emergency.

Frustrated, Skye clicked out of the google search and returned to the email. Maybe digging up information from the hospital would have to come later. Skye stifled a yawn, and realized that she had been on the computer for over an hour. It was much later than she had meant it to be, and she was starting to notice how heavy her eyes were growing. She quickly pulled open the browser history to clear any evidence of her presence on the computer and began the work of erasing her indiscretions.

As she scanned through the history listing to make sure she didn't miss anything, one entry caught her eye. It was an online police database that Skye figured May used to do work from home. Curious, she clicked on the entry to pull it up and see what exactly the site looked like. The entrance to the database portal looked standard, and it was password protected. Unlike May' email, this one wasn't still logged in, so Skye would need to do a little cracking if she wanted to gain access. Judging by the information in the site header, the database contained all kinds of public records, and Skye was sure that birth records would be included. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as the little voice of Jemma returned to her head, warning her that on the scale of bad ideas Skye had acted on that night, this one would definitely be the worst one. _It's one thing to go into someone's email,_ Jemma's voice scolded. _And that was bad enough. This is probably illegal. Like actually illegal. You could go to jail for hacking into the police's files._

_Or,_ Skye countered, _I could impress them with my skills and get hired, like that guy from the Pentagon._

_This isn't the time for jokes,_ mental Jemma chastised. _This is really serious_. It was serious. It was more serious than anything Skye had ever hacked before, but nothing had ever mattered as much to her before, either. If she was right, this database might help get her one step closer to finding her parents and filling the empty space that ate away at her insides like a cavity in a tooth.

Before she let the voice of Jemma talk her out of it, Skye typed in May's name and the password she had used to open the computer and clicked the login button. The attempt bounced, and a warning message popped up, informing her that her password was incorrect. At the bottom of the screen was a "Forgot Password?" button, and Skye couldn't believe her luck. She wouldn't have to hack anything at all. She clicked the button and quickly filled out the information to have a reset code emailed to May's inbox. A moment later, May's email pinged, and the reset code was at Skye's fingertips.

Her hands were practically on autopilot at that point, flying across the keyboard and changing May's password to the database before she had even fully registered the magnitude of what she was doing, and the next thing she knew, all of the knowledge of the Manitowoc police department was sitting just within reach. The database wasn't old, exactly, but it was clearly running off of a server that wasn't state-of-the-art either, so it took Skye a minute to navigate her way around the clunky coding and sorting features that seemed to be organizing the information.

She started with the crime reports and plugged in search parameters for the two months leading up to the date she arrived at St. Agnes, but that search was primarily a bust. The results were overwhelmingly large, listing everything with numeric keys that probably corresponded to different types of crimes – not that Skye had any clue what the difference between a 1-1-7 or an 0-8-4 was. Even more disappointing was the fact that most of the results were centered out of Manitowoc, which was nearly 30 miles from where she should have been looking.

Skye shook her head, chastising herself. Of course the Manitowoc database wouldn't report crimes in Sheboygan. She should have known that the information would be location-sensitive, since each precinct likely had its own database. Deterred but not defeated, Skye backtracked and found her way to a missing persons tab instead. Maybe she had gotten lost and someone was looking for her, all these years. Maybe she had been taken and hidden away. _It would kind of be the perfect kidnapping,_ she reasoned, _to hide the kid you stole in an orphanage_.

The missing persons reports were fewer than the general crime ones, and they covered a wider geographic range, but nothing looked to be quite right from the window of time that Skye was hoping for. She expanded the search to include the entire year of her birth, just in case, but that didn't turn up much either. None of the files made any mention of a baby girl, and none of them indicated a pair of frantic, loving parents looking to get their infant daughter home safely.

She backed up the main portal once more, scanning over the categories to see if there was anything else that might be of use to her. There was no telling when she would ever get a chance like this again, and she was determined to make the most of it. One label near the bottom jumped out at her as promising, and she felt her pulse quicken at the phrase "Public Records." A google search hadn't given her the access she had needed for those, but a police search surely would. She clicked into the field and managed to find her way into the birth records section, wasting no time in narrowing to the summer months from thirteen years ago. Luckily for Skye, the results weren't confined to just Manitowoc, but to Skye's dismay, the wider scope meant the results were in the thousands. She tried to find filter options for the search to try and winnow the records down further, but the database seemed to be too old for a tool like that. Instead, she added Ames' Memorial as an additional keyword in the hopes that the database would accept the hospital as a criterium.

In what Skye could only consider to be a pure stroke of serendipity, the keyword was accepted, and the results dropped to just under 300. That was a number she could do something with. She scrolled until she landed on an entry that was labeled 0613SFA. Something about that entry felt promising. Maybe it was the S in the name – S for Skye, S for success.

With bated breath, she clicked to access the record and was met with utter dismay. Rather than presenting her with a detailed record of a baby's birth, with information like name, parents, and a home address where she could pop over for a chat, the database housed only a message that, as a private hospital, the Ames' Memorial records were not digitized and must be accessed by in-person request only. S for strike, S for stupid, S for you-know-what out of luck.

Desperate, Skye clicked through another six or seven records from the search, only to be met with the same standardized instructions for request. She had been so close, and now was facing what felt like a complete and total dead end. Tears of frustration pricked into her eyes, and Skye ground them out angrily with a fist. She wasn't going to give up, she couldn't ever do that, but at the moment, she didn't know what she was supposed to do next.

The sudden sound of a toilet flushing above her head caused the blood in Skye's veins to turn to ice. Panic flooded her senses, and she wildly began the process of covering her tracks. She logged out of the database as fast as the server would allow her to, then flicked through the browser history once more to clear her illicit perusing. She moved the password reset email out of May's inbox and into the trash folder, then deleted the email from the trash permanently, just to be safe. Just as she was about to close out of the browser entirely and shut the computer off for good, a small voice shattered the silence around her and made Skye's heart stop dead.

"Skye? What are you doing? You weren't in bed." It was Jemma. The real Jemma, not the little voice in Skye's head. Skye whirled around and pressed a finger to her own lips in a desperate attempt to get Jemma to be quiet.

"I was worried you had run off, or –" Jemma stopped short as she took in the scene in front of her. "What are you doing on May's computer?" The hamster wheel in Skye's head was churning at full speed, trying to come up with some explanation for what she was doing that wouldn't result in Jemma being completely disappointed in her.

"I couldn't sleep, and I remembered I had… something else for homework, and –"

"Don't lie to me," Jemma said quietly. There was something fraught in her voice, and Skye felt her heart plummet to the pit of her stomach. "Please, Skye, don't lie."

For the most part, Skye considered herself a decent liar. She didn't go out of her way to make things up, of course, but if the situation required it, she had little trouble spouting off a falsehood, unlike Jemma, who turned into a total mess if she couldn't tell the truth. Jemma wasn't always great at telling if someone was lying to her, but Jemma knew her better than anyone, and in that moment, Skye knew she couldn't get away with anything but honesty.

"Jemma, I… please don't be mad," Skye pleaded. "I just had to know. I wasn't trying to do anything bad."

"Had to know what?" asked Jemma. She took a step closer to the computer, the blue light casting an eerie shadow across her face that made her stricken expression look all the more gruesome. "Is that May's email? Skye, you didn't…"

"It was already logged in when I was using the computer earlier," Skye explained in a frantic whisper. "And I didn't look at anything personal, I promise. I was just looking at the email Miss Hand sent back when we first came here. The email with our-"

"Our files," Jemma completed. She looked absolutely crushed and Skye felt like her insides were shriveling up with shame. It had felt so good in the moment to have all that unbridled access to the things she wanted to know, but now the weight of her actions was crashing down around her ears.

"You'll never believe what I found in there," Skye said quickly, as if the discoveries she'd made might outweigh the wrongness of her searching. "They've been keeping stuff from us, and I saw things about—"

"Skye, please," Jemma begged, her hands snaking up to her ears. "I don't want to know. We're not _supposed_ to know." Her hands pressed against the side of her head, shutting Skye out, and the pointer finger on her right hand began tapping fervently against her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to take a calming breath, but it came out shuddery and nervous-sounding. Skye was a little taken aback by how upset she was. She knew Jemma didn't like it when she did things that could get them in trouble, but she had never expected something like email snooping to send Jemma into a full-on spiral.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Skye blurted. "I'll stop. I won't tell you anything." She closed the distance between her and Jemma and placed a hand on Jemma's elbow with a light touch to let the girl know she was right there. Jemma opened her eyes and looked at Skye with more disappointment than Skye had ever seen before, then slowly lowered her hands from her ears.

"Skye, if May and Phil found out…"

"They won't," Skye assured her. "No one was supposed to find out, and no one will. I covered my tracks, I promise. Please don't be mad." It took a long time before Jemma spoke.

"I'm not mad," she said, her voice empty and small. "I just don't understand why you would do something so… so _reckless_ when we're finally in a place that's good."

"I didn't do it on purpose," said Skye defensively. She shook her head, realizing how silly that sounded. "It's not like I planned on doing it, is what I mean. It was like the idea popped into my head and then I was already doing it before I could stop myself."

"We should go back to bed," Jemma said abruptly. Her face looked pale and drawn, and Skye knew better than to push the issue. Jemma had had enough of the conversation, and there was nothing to do but let her have some space.

"Okay," Skye assuaged. "Okay, you're right. Let's go to bed." She reached over and closed the web browser, then pushed the button to shut down the computer fully and closed the lid of the laptop with a final snap. Jemma didn't look at her once while she did it, and Skye tried hard not to feel even more hurt and ashamed than she already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another longer one - I promise my pacing isn't always this disjointed lol   
> Anyone else not at all prepared for the emotional devastation that will undoubtedly take place in the finale tomorrow? I'm already a mess lol All I want is happy endings all around, is that too much to ask? :)


	27. Busted (that didn't take long...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some (spoiler free) rambles about the series finale at the end...

Neither girl said another word to each other as they slipped back up the stairs and into their beds, and when Skye awoke the next morning, the bad feelings she had gone to bed with were still churning around in her stomach. Jemma wasn’t usually very chatty first thing in the morning, so it didn’t surprise Skye when Jemma continued her streak of not speaking, but the fact that Jemma wouldn’t even look at her was like a dagger to the heart. She didn’t know what to say that would get Jemma to stop being upset with her, and she definitely didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make it worse, so Skye opted to say nothing at all, continuing the silence between the two.

Phil had seemed distracted when he came in to check that they were awake, and he didn’t comment on tension that was sitting thick in the room. Instead, he just reminded them not to dawdle so they had enough time to eat breakfast without rushing before disappearing back down the stairs.

“Did he seem weird to you?” Skye asked once the door was closed, finally breaking the awkward stillness. “He acted like he was in a hurry, but we still have plenty of time.” She glanced over at the clock that now sat on the corner of the desk to make sure she hadn’t misread it.

“I’m not sure,” Jemma said.

A wave of relief flooded Skye at the sound of Jemma’s voice, even if it was a little shorter than usual. Jemma wasn’t really the “silent treatment” type, but then again she and Skye so rarely got into disagreements as serious as the one they’d had last night that there hadn’t been much opportunity for Skye to see how Jemma reacted to that kind of situation.

Of all the ways for someone to handle being mad at her, Skye considered the silent treatment the worst. She couldn’t stand the sitting around and waiting for someone to finally talk to you again, or all the begging and pleading that it took for them to pay you any attention. She’d much prefer that things just get talked out. Even dancing around the subject and talking about things that didn’t matter like the weather, or being yelled at, while not great, was better than the silent treatment. At least somebody was saying _something_.

“Maybe something’s bothering him, or maybe he’s got a busy day today,” Jemma suggested as she pulled some clothes out of the dresser. “I don’t think he finished those progress reports he was working on last night.”

“That’s probably it,” Skye nodded. “Working on those turns him grumpy.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and took a deep breath. “Jemma, I’m really sorry. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it--”

“I don’t.”

“So I won’t drag it on, but I want you to know I’m sorry. And I don’t want you to be mad at me. I didn’t mean for you to find out, and I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Are you sorry you did it, or sorry I found out?” Jemma asked after a moment, her brow knit pensively.

“I…” Skye faltered. She didn’t want to lie to Jemma. She knew that would only make things worse. “I’m sorry that I did something bad. And I’m sorry that I got you mixed up in it. But I… I don’t know if I’m sorry about all of it. I’m not sorry about what I learned.”

“You’re not?” Jemma looked intrigued in spite of herself. “Was it good news?”

“Well, not exactly. It wasn’t really news, just a couple things I didn’t know before.” Skye stopped herself before she got too carried away. “Are you sure you want me to tell you? You said you didn’t want to know before.”

“I think I was more angry last night,” Jemma conceded. “I’m not so angry now. I still wish you hadn’t gone into the police files. You could get in really big trouble, Skye. I don’t want you to go to jail.”

“They wouldn’t throw me in jail for that, right?” Skye said playfully. When Jemma’s expression didn’t change, Skye felt the humor slip away. “Right?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Jemma. “I don’t really know very much about the US legal system. It’s not as interesting as biology or astronomy.”

A knock sounded on their door, then, and Phil’s voice called out from the other side.

“Skye, Jemma, hurry up please. I don’t want to ask again.”

* * *

Phil’s odd mood seemed to have carried over into the kitchen as well. He was still bustling around like he normally did, but he was acting like his thoughts were a million miles in outer space, and he and May weren’t chatting with each other like they normally did. May greeted Skye and Jemma when they sat down, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she didn’t try and strike up any other conversation. Even Bobbi seemed to notice something was different, and she kept cutting her eyes back and forth from May to Phil to Skye and Jemma, like she was trying to figure out what was going on and who was going to break first.

Skye was a little unnerved, but if she had learned anything from years of impropriety, it was that if you had something to hide, the best way to keep it hidden was to act as natural as you could and not draw attention to yourself. That meant blend in, so Skye took her cues from the unusually quiet room and kept her comments to herself. If she had to guess, she figured that Bobbi knew better than to rock the boat as far as grownups were concerned, especially when they were acting weird and tense, and she knew she could count on Jemma to not say a word.

By the time they had finished eating, Jemma was tapping on the tabletop from nerves, something that didn’t escape Phil’s notice. He tried to inject some pep into his tone as he suggested they all get ready to go.

“You all grab your things, and I’ll meet you out by the car,” he said with a smile that, if Skye had to be honest, looked a little forced. Not interested in lingering in the stressed-out kitchen, Skye popped to her feet and was right behind Jemma halfway across the room before Phil’s voice stopped her.

“Actually, Skye, if you could hang back for a second, Melinda and I have something we want to talk to you about.” Skye felt the blood drain from her face. There was no way that a good conversation was about to go down. She had never heard Phil’s tone be so solemn before. Bobbi cast her a sympathetic look as she thumped past her on her crutches, but she didn’t stick around to watch whatever fireworks were coming. Jemma’s face was blanched, and her trembling fingers began to drum with what Skye would have guessed was the speed of a hummingbird’s heartrate.

Behind them, Phil cleared his throat, and Bobbi tugged gently on the cuff of Jemma’s sleeve in an attempt to get her to follow her out to the car.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Jemma,” May promised. “Why don’t you go with Bobbi? Phil and I just need to have a quick chat with Skye, okay?” Skye gave Jemma a weak half smile, trying to mentally telegraph to her not to worry, then turned around and faced the stern faces of her foster parents. She had never seen either of them look so serious before, Phil especially. A tiny, stupidly hopeful part of her brain thought that maybe they just wanted to talk about the tutoring thing, but she knew better than to stake anything on that pipe dream.

“Have a seat, Skye,” Phil said as he pulled out her chair and proceeded to sit down himself. Skye obeyed, and a wad of dread sunk into the pit of her stomach. This was a “you’re in trouble” chat, or a “you’re going back to St. Agnes chat.” She could feel it coming. Jemma would be so disappointed with her.

“We wanted to ask you something,” May began. Her words were measured and cautious, like she was choosing them carefully to not upset Skye, or maybe not to upset herself. “When I woke up this morning, I had a notification from my work email that a request had been made to change the password on my account. I’ve never gotten a message like that before. The database we use is pretty secure, and I know I wasn’t the one who made the request. So I tried to log on to my account this morning, but my password had been changed.”

Skye felt the knots of guilt and anxiety and frustration all start to twist around inside of her. How could she have forgotten something as simple as that? Of course May would have another, department-official email account for work, and of course her database account would linked to that email. She hadn’t even thought of it last night, she had been so swept up in the excitement of finding her file, and she hadn’t thought about needing to re-reset the password either. She had totally blown it. Jemma had been right; she was probably going straight to jail.

“Once I managed to fix the password and get into my account,” May continued, “I noticed that my account had been accessed last night, and that the searches done on it were about some birth records over near Sheboygan.”

Skye cringed internally at her own stupidity. She hadn’t realized the database logged your searches, too. She had cleared the browser history, but not the database account history.

“So, really, what I’m trying to ask you here, Skye, is whether there’s anything you’d like to tell us,” concluded May. Her face was almost totally neutral, which Skye found a little unnerving. She was glad May didn’t seem angry, but it was almost worse not being able to tell what she was actually feeling at all. Skye couldn’t stop herself from thinking that May was probably very skilled in the interrogation room at her job, although the thought wasn’t much of a comfort in the moment.

For a split second, Skye considered denying everything and acting offended that they had just assumed that she had something to do with it. She had been in plenty of houses where she was the first to get blamed for things, even if she hadn’t done anything wrong, just because the foster kid with the bad track record was an easy scapegoat, but she knew that wasn’t what was going on here. She knew Miss Hand had warned May and Phil about her less than savory computer habits, and she knew they knew she was capable of doing what she was being accused of. They had just talked last night about hacking the Pentagon, for Pete’s sake. Plus, the topics of her searches last night were more than a little incriminating. She had been caught fair and square, and something about May and Phil made the idea of lying to their faces seem wrong.

“I…” Skye tried to speak, but her chin began to quiver before she could get the words out. She wasn’t sure why she felt like crying all of the sudden. She never got blubbery over getting in trouble before. Swallowing hard, Skye forced her jaw to stay strong, and she tried again.

“I’m sorry.” The apology spilled out of her before the confession had formed on her tongue. She had to let them know how badly she felt before she even attempted to explain what she had done. She didn’t want them to look at her the way so many other foster parents had. Like she was the hopeless case her file made her out to be.

“I went on your computer last night and looked at stuff I shouldn’t have,” she admitted, her eyes locked on the tabletop.

“What exactly were you looking for?” May wanted to know. She still didn’t sound angry, which Skye took as a sign to continue being honest.

“I… I was looking for my parents,” she finally said. Her voice sounded as small as she felt, sitting there in that chair with May and Phil on either side of her.

“What do you mean?” Phil asked. His tone was a little confused, and maybe a little sad, too. Skye didn’t dare risk looking at him, for fear that she would see nothing but dismay and disappointment on his face.

“I don’t know anything about them,” she told the tabletop. “But I thought if I could find something about when I was born, maybe it would tell me something about them. What their names are, where they… where they live.”

“And you thought hacking into a police database was the best way to do that?” asked May. Skye scrunched her shoulders up at the steely edge in May’s voice. She felt sick.

May’s hand reached out across the table and rested in Skye’s line of sight.

“I’m sorry, that came out harsher than I meant it to,” she apologized. Skye’s gaze followed May’s hand up her arm and to her face. She looked genuinely sorry, although the sternness hadn’t completely disappeared either.

“Skye, we’re not angry, but we need you to understand how wrong of you it was to do that,” Phil said. “You can’t just go poking into files like that without permission. There could be some serious consequences for doing something like that.”

“Police files are locked behind passwords for a reason,” May added. “There are things in there that aren’t available to the public because they have personal information about people, or information that could be dangerous or harmful if the wrong people got their hands on it.”

“I know,” said Skye quietly. “I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Is there a reason why you thought that was the best choice to make?” Phil asked. “If finding information out about your parents is important to you, why not ask me or Melinda to help you out? Or Miss Hand?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Skye tried to explain. “Or, I mean, I _was_ thinking, and I thought that maybe I shouldn’t, but I just needed to know. It was all right there, and I wanted to look for myself. All Miss Hand knows is what’s in my file; that I was left at the orphanage when I was a baby and nobody knew who I was or where I came from. That’s what she told me. And I didn’t think I could ask you guys about it. You’re not really supposed to ask foster parents about your real parents. And I didn’t want you to get mad or say no.”

“Skye, you can ask us anything,” May assured her. “Asking questions is always allowed here, that won’t make us mad. We might not always know the answer, or be able to tell you what you want to hear, but we want you to feel like you can always at least ask. Then we can be on the same page.”

“If there’s something we need to figure out together, we can do that,” Phil pointed out. “But we need to know what we’re supposed to be working on in order to do it.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me find out stuff about my parents?” Skye asked. She was having trouble wrapping her head around the possibility that was dangling in front of her.

“If that is something that’s important to you, then we will do what we can,” May promised. “Is there something in particular that you’re looking for?”

“I just want to know about them. To know if they’re out there, if they’re looking for me, or even if they don’t care about me.”

“Skye, I feel like you should know,” Phil said cautiously, “you might not like the answers that we find.”

“That’s what Jemma says,” Skye remarked. “She doesn’t want me to get my feelings hurt, I think, but nothing can be worse than what I’ve already imagined.”

“She’s a smart girl, that Jemma,” Phil chuckled. “Just like you. Which is why we’re hoping that you’re going to be smart enough not to do something like this again. This kind of thing can’t happen, Skye.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not about being good,” May told her. “You already are good. It’s about making good choices. Good choices like not hacking into secure databases to go looking for private information, or like listening to that little voice in your head that speaks up when there are things you shouldn’t be doing.”

“Melinda and I talked, and we think that we’ve come up with an appropriate consequence,” Phil said. “You can’t use the computer for anything except schoolwork for the next two weeks, and when you do use it, one of us needs to be supervising the whole time. Does that sound fair to you?”

Skye nodded. She had never been asked if a punishment sounded fair before, but she wasn’t about to disagree. She was just glad she wasn’t going to be yelled at or be forced to do something like wash all the windows or re-grout the shower.

“Okay, then we’re in agreement,” Phil smiled. He checked his watch and his eyebrows shot up his forehead. “And we’re going to be late if we don’t get a move-on,” he exclaimed. He popped out of his seat and started gathering up his things, his usual boisterous energy finally returning in full force. He stopped by May’s chair to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, then beckoned for Skye to follow him out the door. May waved to them both, telling them to have a good day, and Skye waved back, a little shyly.

She was overjoyed that May and Phil weren’t mad, and that her punishment was basically the easiest one she had ever had, but she still felt a little embarrassed for getting into trouble in the first place. Phil and May had been nice and even understanding about the whole thing, but that didn’t distract Skye from the fact that she had still messed up in a big way and had probably made them realize even more just how screwed up she really was.

When she slid into the backseat, she noticed that Jemma looked like she was practically on the verge of tears. Jemma opened her mouth to try and say something, but there was nothing to hear besides the sound of her finger keeping rapid time on her knee.

Bobbi twisted around in the front seat as much as she could to look at Skye. “Is everything okay? Jemma’s really…” Bobbi tightened her jaw and flicked her eyes over to Jemma. It wasn’t the first time Skye had encountered someone who didn’t have a good idea of how to describe her best friend. “She’s been worried, I guess. But she couldn’t tell me what was wrong.”

“Everything’s fine,” Skye replied. She turned to face Jemma then, and took her free hand to give it a squeeze. “It really is okay, I promise.”

Jemma let out a shuddery breath, and the faintest of relieved smiles glimmered on her face. The tempo of her tapping slowed to a much more relaxed one, and Skye knew that at least some of Jemma’s stress had abated. She was about to elaborate further when Phil opened the door to the driver’s side and eased himself into the car.

“Sorry about that, I had to go back for my keys,” he grinned sheepishly. He was acting much more like his usual self than he had all morning, and that seemed to put everyone at ease even more than Skye’s assurances had. Skye thought it was a little odd that he was acting like nothing had even happened, but she supposed it was nice that he wasn’t making a big deal about it in front of Jemma and Bobbi.

The ride was mostly quiet, with only fragments of small talk popping up here and there. The radio was tuned to a station that played some jazzy, old-sounding song that Phil hummed along to softly when no one was talking, and Skye had to admit the sound was kind of soothing. He gave her and Jemma both a big smile when they pulled up outside of the middle school and sent them away with his usual call to have a great day and to wait for him in the library after school.

* * *

Once he had pulled away and they were alone on the blacktop, Jemma turned her gaze on Skye, her eyes brimming with the questions she hadn’t been able to ask in the car.

“What happened? Are you in trouble? Did they find out?”

“Jeez, cool it with the paparazzi routine, will you?” Skye joked. Jemma didn’t look all that amused, so Skye dropped the bit. “Sorry. It’s not funny. Yeah, they knew. I didn’t cover my tracks as well as I thought I had, and May got this notification on her other email about her account being reset, so I was basically busted from the beginning.”

“Were they angry?” Jemma asked, barely above a whisper. They had started to cross the blacktop towards their usual melted table, which Skye could see was waiting empty for them. Somehow, they had beaten Fitz there this morning.

“No, not really. They didn’t shout or anything. They weren’t happy about it, but it was more like they were disappointed, I guess. They wanted to know why I did it.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Kind of.” Skye shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other. “I told them I was looking for my parents. I don’t think they knew about the email thing. About me looking at our files. I think they only knew about me going into the police files and looking up birth records.”

“Birth records?” Jemma furrowed her brow. “How could you look up birth records without knowing your birthdate?”

“Because I found something,” Skye said excitedly. She had wanted to tell Jemma this part since last night, but had forced herself to keep it hidden when Jemma had been so upset. Now that they had made up and Skye’s subterfuge was out in the open, she could finally tell Jemma what she found. “In our files, there’s a page from the day we came to St. Agnes. It talks about where we came from, what we’re like, stuff like that.”

“But I thought you said someone left you outside the front door. No identifying information.”

“That’s what I thought, too. That’s what Miss Hand told me, anyway.”

“Did Miss Hand not tell you the truth?” Jemma’s expression was creased with concern. “I thought she told us the truth about things.”

“No, she did. I was left on the doorstep, just like she said. But she didn’t include all the details, probably because she didn’t think they were important.”

Fitz strolled up to them then, looking a little more rumpled than usual, but otherwise chipper.

“Hi,” he greeted them. “Who doesn’t think details are important? Details are crucial. Almost all information is encoded in details.” It didn’t surprise Skye that he had jumped right in to the conversation. She debated momentarily about whether to include him in her grand plan to find her parents. On the one hand, a covert mission was always better with fewer agents involved, but on the other, he was basically her and Jemma’s best friend, and he already knew a fair amount about her past. Plus, he was insanely smart, so it might not be such a bad thing to have his big brain working alongside Jemma’s.

“I found a file that the nuns wrote about me when I was dropped off at the orphanage as a baby. It had more details than I had known before. Like, I was dropped off on the 4th of July, and the nun who wrote the form thought I looked like I was in between zero and two months old.”

“So that gives you a window for your birthdate,” Jemma said, her eyes wide. Her wheels were already turning, working the problem like it was an equation or a star chart. “Which is how could start searching birth records. You have a narrower window of time, plus a general area to search in.”

“Not just that,” Skye cut in. She could barely contain her excitement. “I have a hospital to look at.” Jemma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.

“Did you have a tag from the hospital still on your ankle or something?” Fitz wanted to know. “That would have a lot of information on it.”

“No,” Skye shook her head. “Not that lucky. But I was wrapped up in a blanket that the nun said came from Ames’ Memorial, that big hospital down the road from St. Agnes. So that has to be where I was born, right?”

“Statistically, it’s not a total guarantee,” Fitz said, “but it’s extremely probable. The likelihood of someone trying to obfuscate your place of birth by using a decoy blanket is astronomical. Not to mention it’s also a highly impractical strategy.”

“So did you find something?” Jemma asked. “If you had the hospital and a date window?”

Skye frowned. “No,” she admitted. “The database wouldn’t let me look at the records from Ames’ Memorial. Apparently they don’t do digital records that far back or something, so I kind of hit a roadblock on that. But when I told May and Phil that’s what I was looking for, they said they’d try to help.”

“Really?” Jemma looked impressed. “They didn’t tell you to stop looking?”

“Well, they kind of did,” Skye shrugged. “I’m not really supposed to do any more digging, and I’m not allowed to use the computer without supervision. But if they’re going to look, then I won’t have to do it all by myself.”

“That’s… amazing,” Jemma said after a beat. “Skye, I’m very happy for you.”

“I’ve never been so close before,” Skye gushed, unable to contain herself. “It’s like I’ve been shoveling through all this useless dirt for years now, and suddenly I’ve hit something solid. I can’t stop digging now.”

“But you will, won’t you?” Jemma looked serious. “If May and Phil are going to be looking and they’ve asked you not to do it yourself anymore, there’s not really a need for you to keep going on your own.” When Skye didn’t immediately respond, Jemma let out a frustrated huff. “Skye, you can’t get in trouble like that again. We were lucky that your punishment wasn’t anything worse than losing computer privileges, you can’t risk anything more.”

“Come on, Jems, I don’t want to fight about this again,” Skye said exasperatedly. She reeled herself back in slightly when she saw the hurt expression on Jemma’s face, but she didn’t cave entirely, either. “Jemma, I promise, I’m not going to do anything bad like before. I won’t break any rules, and I won’t get in trouble. But I can’t just give up. Please understand.”

“I… I do,” Jemma murmured. “I do understand. I just want you to be careful. Learning about your parents won’t do you any good If you wind up in jail trying to do it.”

“Is that a possibility here?” Fitz asked. “Did you do something illegal?”

“No!” Skye protested. “Not really, I don’t think. I definitely looked at stuff I shouldn’t have, and I might have hacked into a secure police database, but I’m sure they don’t send kids to jail for that kind of stuff. Nobody said anything about jail this morning when May and Phil were chewing me out.”

“Well that’s good,” Fitz remarked. “I don’t think my mum would let me come and visit you if you were in jail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. That finale had me in pieces. I won't say anything specific to avoid spoilers (although if you want to talk about it, definitely hit me up!), but there were a lot of emotions in it for me. I was really happy with the way the show concluded, but I'm so so sad it's over. AoS has been a part of my life for 7 years, and has been there for me through a lot of ups and downs and life changes. I'm going to miss it so much, but I'm so immensely grateful for the many amazing years it gave us (and for the fact that it'll always be there for me to come back to). The entire cast and crew really put it all out there for us and gave us something so special over the years. I will always love how much hope and honor and goodness and courage and love our favorite family of agents always strove to put out into the world. For me it feels like a mission accomplished. <3


	28. Fortifying Friendships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi's back! It's been a while since we've heard from her :)  
> TW for brief mentions of violence, minor language/swearing

Bobbi was genuinely surprised at how good her life was starting to feel. There were still parts that didn’t feel normal, of course, like sharing a house with four other people who were often boisterous and busy instead of with one surly guy, and pretending that Phil was her uncle instead of an emergency foster father, but there were other parts that felt like pieces that had finally slotted into where they should have been for the last fifteen years.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wasn’t afraid to be at home. She was keeping up in school, she had friends. Real life, honest-to-God friends. Or at least, proto-friends. She wasn’t sure how long you had to hang out with people before it counted as a “friendship” level relationship, or if it counted as being friends if you only hung out at school. Still, even if she hadn’t quite hit those milestones yet to be able to call Mack, Hunter, Natasha, and Clint her friends, she felt like she was making progress. They were all nice to her, in their own ways, and after just a couple of weeks of knowing them, she already felt closer to them than she had ever felt with any of the girls from her old school, despite playing soccer with some of them for years.

Maybe it was because she didn’t have quite as many things to hide, or the reputation of being the overly-competitive girl with the strict dad and the deadbeat mom. Her dad would say it was because she was a robot who wasn’t wired for human connection, or that she was just like her mom and couldn’t be bothered to care about anybody but herself. Bobbi hoped that wasn’t true. She tried so hard to act like everyone else around her, to talk like them and move like them and find the same things interesting that they did. She tried hard to make sure that she cared about other people, too. She always wished her opponents good luck and helped girls up if she had knocked them over, even if they had deserved it. She took care of her dad once her mom decided she’d had enough.

She would never have told her dad that he was wrong about her to his face, but Bobbi was pretty sure that if you tried hard to be a good person, that made you a good person. She didn’t believe people were born bad or good, even though that’s what her dad said. If he was in one of his moods, he would shout and stomp around and complain about how her mother was rotten to the core and was a selfish bitch who was never worth the ten years he gave her.

He would remind her that people can’t change the way that a fish couldn’t decide it wanted to live on land, but Bobbi just couldn’t make herself believe it. It took billions of years, but fish eventually crawled out of the water and became lizards. People made choices all the time to do good things or bad things, things that helped people or hurt people. Even a person who had done nothing but bad things their entire life could one day decide that they wanted to do something good for a change.

She had always hoped that would happen to her dad. That one day he’d wake up and realize that the way he treated her was hurting her, and that she needed him to be a dad, a _real_ dad, to her. One who took care of her and listened to her ideas and problems, one who came to her soccer games and took her out for ice cream if she got all As. One who didn’t yell and hit and make her feel as worthless as the mud she cleaned off of her soccer cleats every night.

Still, she knew how childish it was to think that, and she worked hard not to get carried away by the fantasy of it all. Up until a few weeks ago, she hadn’t ever imagined that her life would look any different than it had, but now here she was, not just with a guy like Phil, who never raised his voice and who smiled so naturally Bobbi was sure he probably smiled in his sleep, too, but with a woman like May, who looked out for her family and was steady as a rock. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would just decide she was tired of being a parent one day and run off to who-knows-where to try her hand at a whole new life. The fantasies she had convinced herself were childish stories that would never come true were suddenly swirling around her, taking shape as an actual reality. It felt too good to be true.

Things weren’t perfect, of course. She was still hobbling around on crutches, and even though the physical therapist had said she was in a good position to make a full recovery, it was hard to imagine feeling like normal again. She was still getting used to having barely any alone time. Everywhere she went, someone was there, sitting at the kitchen table, watching TV, doing homework, taking too long in the shower. Most of the time she didn’t mind, but sometimes she could feel herself shutting down from the almost constant stimulus of human contact. She could tell it was coming, because it felt like her body was slowly filling up with concrete, making everything harder and harder to wade through, and her hands would start to twitch. Luckily, no one seemed to mind when she had to disappear upstairs to her bedroom and be alone.

Her room was nice, with clean, non-broken furniture, walls that didn’t have a hole punched in them, paint that wasn’t chipped and faded. The bed was soft, and the window let in just the right amount of light in the mornings to help her wake up slowly. It didn’t really feel like her, though. When Miss Hand had taken her to her old house to pack her things, she had said “essentials only,” which Bobbi understood as clothes, toiletries, and the few things she couldn’t live without, like her batons, her soccer gear, and her school stuff. She hadn’t packed her World Cup Team posters or her little wind-up R2D2 that she liked to watch shuffle across her desk. She hadn’t packed her biology books that she had found in the discard bin of the local library, her dogeared dictionaries for French, Spanish, or Mandarin, or her trophies from years of club and team sports.

She had no idea if she would ever be able to go back and get those things. She had no idea if they were even still there, or if her dad had trashed her room and thrown out all her stuff, like he did when her mom left them. There wasn’t a trace of Susan Morse left in the house within 24 hours of her deserting it. Would there be a trace of Bobbi after she had done the same thing? As glad as she was to be away from him and out from under his painful thumb, a shriveled, guilty part of Bobbi felt horrible for what she had done. She had left him, too, just like he always said she would. She knew logically that it was something she’d had to do, for her own safety, but it gave her a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach to know that she had proved him right and turned out just like her good-for-nothing mother. 

Fortunately, she was able to force herself not to think too hard about any of that stuff most of the time. When she was at school, or busy doing things with Phil, May, Skye, and Jemma, she could quiet all of the thoughts about her parents and her old room and what made a person good or bad and just focus on whatever the task at hand was, be it irregular French conjugations in class, a spirited game of Clue with her foster family, or the strength exercises her doctor had assigned her. Her head was always clearer when she had something else to do.

* * *

“Okay, which two are we missing? Hello? Earth to Bobbi?”

“Huh?” Bobbi snapped her attention back to Mack and Hunter, who were looking at her intently.

“We’ve got eight of the amendments from the Bill of Rights, but we’re missing two. Which ones did we forget?”

Bobbi looked down at the paper sitting in front of them that their small group was supposed to have been working on, trying to give her brain a minute to catch up. She had been watching Phil travel from group to group and thinking about how calmly he had asked Skye to stay behind so that they could talk about whatever it was that she had done wrong. Her own father would never have sat her down for a discussion about something that she was in trouble for. It was kind of mind-blowing just how normal Phil had acted when he asked Skye to stay, with no shouting or breaking anything. She hadn’t stuck around to listen to the conversation, but judging by Skye’s demeanor when she had joined them in the car, there hadn’t been any of that when they were alone, either.

Jemma had been totally freaked out by the whole thing, no matter how much Bobbi had tried to calm her down in the car. She hadn’t said much, just that “this was bad, very bad,” and she had been all fidgety and out of sorts, shifting back and forth instead of sitting still and doing that thing she did where she tapped her finger over and over again. She hadn’t cried, but she looked on the verge of tears for most of the time that they were in the car together. Bobbi had tried to ask what was going on, but once Jemma had refused to answer with a shake of her head, Bobbi let the issue drop. She knew how stressful it was to have people asking you questions you couldn’t answer over and over again.

Instead, she had talked to Jemma in as gentle a voice as she could, about how she was sure everything was going to be okay, and that Phil and May were nice people, and that they didn’t seem like they were mad that morning, so that was a plus, right? That seemed to have helped a little bit, although not nearly as much as Bobbi’s other idea, which was to have Jemma call out strings of nucleotide combinations from a DNA sequence that Bobbi had noticed on Jemma’s science homework the day before. The rhythm of pairing off adenines and thymines seemed to sooth the younger girl, and although Bobbi had no idea whether or not the sequence was correct, not having committed Jemma’s homework to memory, she figured that wasn’t really the important part.

“Seriously, Bobbi, do you have any clue which ones we’re forgetting?” Hunter’s exasperated tone cut through her thoughts. His expression wasn’t angry, so Bobbi assumed he was more fed up with the assignment than with her lack of focus.

“Sorry, um…” She forced herself to concentrate and read over the list the boys had already come up with. They were supposed to be listing out the amendments in the Bill of Rights, and explaining the importance of each of them. “There’s one about not letting soldiers stay at your house, right?”

“Why does that sound like a wildly outdated concern?” Hunter smirked. “Probably because it is, and because the Americans haven’t updated their government in over 200 years. Good luck trying to write out why that amendment is supposed to matter.”

“We’ve been in this class for over a month,” Mack said with a roll of his eyes. “Are you planning on being insufferably British about American history for the entire year, or just until we get past the parts where we totally schooled you?”

“Someone has to carry the torch,” Hunter pointed out. “Otherwise you all would get far too big for your britches. I consider it my duty to keep everyone humble.”

“Besides yourself,” Mack teased. Hunter flicked Mack in the arm with his pencil, but it bounced harmlessly off of Mack’s bicep, and both boys laughed.

“One more to go,” said Mack after a minute, as he finished jotting down the amendment preventing the quartering of troops. “It’s seriously bugging me that I can’t remember it.”

“Right to remain silent, or something like that?” Bobbi suggested halfheartedly. She was still more focused on Phil than on the group work.

Mack put down his pencil and looked at her thoughtfully. “Bobbi, is everything okay? You’re even more checked out than Hunter is, which is not something I ever thought I’d say.” _Okay. Okay._

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. She gave her crutches an absentminded squeeze. “I’m just distracted. Weird morning, I guess.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mack asked. His full attention was on her, and Bobbi felt like she was being x-rayed. “Did something happen at Mr. C’s house this morning? Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” said Bobbi hastily. “Just something with my foster sisters… I mean, cousins. Foster cousins?” She paused for a moment and considered. “Is it bad that I don’t know what to call them?”

“If you didn’t know their names after all this time, then I would say yes,” Hunter quipped. “But seeing as it’s a complicated family dynamic, I think we can give you a pass on the actual title.” He flashed a sly grin her way that she found it difficult to return. In her head she considered Skye and Jemma her foster sisters, since they all shared the same foster parents, but she had nearly slipped up by calling them that. If Phil was supposed to be her uncle, and Skye and Jemma were his foster daughters, then she probably shouldn’t be calling them sisters out loud. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the complexities of the lie she was still carrying on with.

“What happened?” Mack wanted to know, rerouting the conversation back to its actual point. “If you want to say, I mean.”

“I don’t really know for sure,” Bobbi admitted. “I wasn’t there for part of it. I think Skye got a talking to this morning, and for some reason it really freaked out Jemma. I guess maybe she gets nervous about getting in trouble. But Phil and May were really nice about it, and I guess everything turned out okay. It just made me think about…” She paused, giving herself enough time to properly phrase her next words without giving herself away. “About how some families don’t have parents who can talk nicely and constructively with their kids about getting in trouble.”

Hunter’s face had clouded over, and Bobbi worried she had said something to upset him. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Some parents can be real pieces of... well, anyway, sounds like your sister-cousin-whatever hasn’t had good ones before now.”

“It’s good that they have people like Mr. C and his wife to take care of them now,” Mack nodded. “I bet Mr. C is a great dad. I think it’s cool that they took in kids like that, ones that hadn’t had a good home before. I’m sure it messes you up, to not have people to care about you when you’re that young, but it sounds like they do now, which is great.” _Messes you up. Was_ she _messed up? Probably._

“Yeah, I guess so.” Bobbi opted not to elaborate. She was eager to move away from the subject and the possibility that she might accidentally let the whole truth slip out. If talking about hypothetically lousy parents made Hunter upset and made Mack talk about being messed up, then there was no way they would take the truth about her own circumstances well.

“I can’t bloody think straight,” Hunter blurted loudly, shoving the paper across their desks. “This assignment is—” He was cut short by the arrival of Phil, who had finally made his way over to their group.

“Everything okay over here?” he asked, not without concern.

“We’ve got most of them, Mr. C,” Mack said quickly, retrieving the paper and holding it out for Phil to look over. “We were just taking a break.”

“Sounds good,” Phil nodded. “Looks good, too,” he added once he had read over their work. “You’re missing another legal one. Think Gamble v. United States or the trial of Jack McCall.”

“Who?” Hunter asked. His cloudy mood seemed to have passed after his outburst, and he had one eyebrow arched in a look of confusion.

“You know, Jack McCall,” pressed Phil. “The guy who killed Wild Bill Hickock?”

“I swear you’re making these up,” Hunter smirked. “Was he friends with Buckaroo Barney and Texas Pete?”

“You just wait until we get to Westward expansion,” Phil promised. “Everybody had a cool cowboy name out there. Also some genocidal tendencies, which were considerably less cool, but we’ll get to that, too.”

“I think you’re just going to have to give us the last amendment,” Mack admitted. “We’re all kind of brain-fried over here.”

Phil chuckled, but gave them the answer. “The 5th. Due process, self-incrimination, double jeopardy, things like that. Jack McCall was acquitted in his first trial and convicted in his second, but they were allowed to try him twice because the place where he shot Wild Bill was a town founded illegally on Lakota property. The first trial was ruled invalid because it took place on land that didn’t belong to the United States, and Jack McCall was retried by a Dakota territory court.”

“That was on the tip of my tongue,” said Hunter dryly, and everyone, including Bobbi, got a laugh out of that one.

“Consider it your fun fact for the day,” Phil teased back. “Are you all good to come back together as a class in a couple more minutes?”

They all nodded, and Phil drifted away to another group. Mack finished scribbling out a sentence about the fifth amendment before setting down his pencil and looking over at Bobbi, a question poised on his lips.

“So, Bobbi, there’s a girls’ soccer game tonight, and Hunter and I will be done with practice before it starts, so we were thinking about going. You want to come?” Bobbi had mentioned to the both of them that she played not long after they’d all met, and this was the third time Mack had invited her to go see the girls here play. So far, she’d said no every time. It felt wrong to go and watch other girls play for a team that wasn’t really hers, even if she went to school here now, especially when she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to play again.

“What is it with you and the girls’ soccer team?” she asked, trying to deflect attention from her reluctance. “I didn’t think those games were big draws for crowd attendance.”

“We like to go and support each other’s teams,” Mack explained. “A lot of the girls come to our games, so we try to return the favor. We don’t get crowds like the football games do or anything, but it’s nice to have some fans. Plus, I was just thinking it might be good for you to start scouting out the team for when your knee gets better. They’d be lucky to have you, I bet.”

“He’s casually omitting the fact that Elena is on the team, and he likes to watch her play,” Hunter needled. He was smiling, so Bobbi could tell it wasn’t mean-spirited, but that didn’t stop Mack from blushing.

“Whatever, man. We’re just friends. Not even friends. She’s an acquaintance. We’re in AV together, and she doesn’t usually have a lot of people cheering for her.”

“I’m just messing with you, mate. You don’t have to tie your shorts up in knots about it. It’s no skin off my nose if you’ve got a thing for her.”

“I don’t have a—whatever, man.” Mack shoved Hunter’s arm playfully, and Bobbi was glad to see that neither one was actually upset with the other. “How ‘bout it, Bobbi? Will you please come?”

“I’ll probably have a lot of homework,” she shrugged. “Plus, Phil likes it when we’re all home for dinner together. I don’t think I can make it.”

“Come on, Bobbi,” Mack pleaded. “It’s a big game, they’re playing against Mishicot, which is basically our rival school…”

“In football, at least,” Hunter added. “In the other sports like basketball and the other, incorrect, football it’s more about taking down Reedsville High, but we take our Mishicot games very seriously.”

“You could ask Mr. C, and he might let you come. He used to come to stuff like that as often as he could, so he might like an excuse to start going again,” Mack pointed out.

“Why do you want me to come so badly?” asked Bobbi. “You’re going to go either way, aren’t you?”

“We want to go with you.” Mack looked like he was having trouble understanding why Bobbi was so resistant to the idea. “It’ll be fun, and that’s what friends do. They hang out at stuff like soccer games and eat junk food from the concession stand and get overly heated when the ref misses on offside call. We are friends, right?” _Friends. Friends. Friends._ She hadn’t known if she could call Mack and Hunter her friends yet or not, but here was Mack basically telling her that they were. He wanted her to go to the game because that was what friends did, and Bobbi wanted very much to be friends with the two boys who made her laugh and made starting at a new school less painful and nerve-wracking than it had any right to be.

“Okay,” she relented. “Okay, I’ll ask Phil.”

“Fantastic,” Hunter grinned. “Now I’ll have someone to talk to when Mack gets too carried away watching—”

“You better cool it, man,” Mack warned. He reached over and rubbed his knuckles onto the top of Hunter’s head, and both were cracking up by the time Phil called everyone back together for the last few minutes of class.

The dynamics of their friendship were still somewhat foreign to Bobbi, what with the teasing and all the playful fighting they did, but there was something enticing about it, about their closeness and their comfort with one another. She got the sense that they rarely fought with each other for real, and that they were comfortable both telling each other things and teasing one another about those same things without fear that it would ever go too far. She had never had that with anyone before, but watching the way the pair of them continued to flick and poke at each other surreptitiously as Phil wrapped up the lesson, giggling like little kids, Bobbi felt an overwhelming longing to be a part of it.

* * *

When the bell rang and the class began to disperse for lunch, Mack prodded Bobbi in the back to push her towards Phil.

“Go ask him now, while he’s not busy,” he said eagerly.

Bobbi propelled herself across the room and over to Phil’s desk. She was getting decent at swinging herself along in between the crutches, and she could move much faster than she had a few weeks ago. Checking over her shoulder one last time for a bit of encouragement from Mack and Hunter, she drew level with Phil and took a breath.

“Um, Phil?”

“What’s up, kiddo?” He winced and corrected himself. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t call you that at school, even if it’s only Mack and Hunter with us.” He waved to the boys, who were lurking in the back of the room, letting them know that he wasn’t oblivious to their presence.

“It’s okay,” Bobbi said, twisting the corner of her mouth up into a half smile. “I don’t mind. Can I… Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Phil set down his pen and turned to give her his full attention. It was supposed to be a nice gesture, Bobbi supposed, but the intensity of his gaze set her on edge a little. She took another breath and squeezed the handles of her crutches.

“Well, Mack and Hunter are going to the soccer game tonight, and they asked me if I wanted to come, and…” She trailed off. She didn’t have a lot of practice asking fathers for permission to go to things. Her dad always said no, so she stopped asking a long time ago. Sometimes she went anyways, like if the team was getting food after practice, but she usually paid the price for that later.

“Would you like to go?” Phil asked. He was smiling in the soft way that he had that made Bobbi feel like the air around her had just let out a gentle sigh.

“I… I would, yeah,” she told him. She felt her own face arranging itself into smile that matched his. This wasn’t so bad after all. “If it’s okay.”

“Bobbi,” said Phil earnestly, “I think it’s a great idea. I’m really glad you’re spending time with friends outside of school. The soccer games here are lots of fun, and I bet you’ll have a great time.”

“They’re playing Mishicot, apparently,” Bobbi threw in. Phil’s face lit up.

“Mishicot, really? How did I not know tonight was the Mishicot game? Oh, you are in for a treat, Bobbi.” He paused for a second, his face scrunched up and his eyebrows knit. _Confused face? Maybe more of a thinking face_ , Bobbi decided.

“I have an idea,” Phil began slowly, “and you can say no if you want to, it won’t hurt my feelings at all. But how would feel about the rest of us coming to the game, too? Me and Melinda and Skye and Jemma? You wouldn’t have to sit with us or anything, you could hang out with your friends, but the Mishicot game is so much fun, and Melinda and I haven’t been to any games yet this year. I think the girls would really like it, too. Like I said, feel free to say no. I don’t want to encroach on your night out with your friends.”

“That sounds good,” Bobbi said, nodding. Somewhat to her surprise, the idea of having her foster family close by actually made her feel less nervous about going to the game. If anything went wrong, they’d be right there if she needed them. “I’d like that, actually.”

Phil’s face cracked open into a sunbeam smile. “Fantastic! This is going to be great, Bobbi, just you wait.”

“Thanks, Phil,” she smiled. She turned around slightly and flashed a thumbs-up to Mack and Hunter, who high-fived behind her when they got the signal.

“Mr. C, you rock,” Mack said excitedly as he came over to the corner where Bobbi and Phil were chatting.

“I can pick her up before, if you want,” Hunter offered. “I have to go and get my cousin after practice anyway, so it’d be on the way.”

“Turbo’s coming?” Mack asked.

“Yeah, both our mums are working late tonight, and my aunt Linda doesn’t like it when he’s home alone in the evenings. After school is okay, but she gets twitchy about it after dark, so I’m making him tag along. Don’t worry, though,” Hunter said quickly, misreading Bobbi’s concerned face. “He won’t bother us. Usually he just sits there with a book, or he’ll just watch the game. He likes football, so he’s fine to come.”

“Oh no, that’s not…” Bobbi wasn’t sure how to explain that she had been more worried at the idea of Hunter’s little cousin staying home by himself than at the idea of him coming along. She had spent many an afternoon in an empty house all alone as a kid, and she didn’t have many fond memories of the experience.

“You’re going to love this kid,” Mack promised her. “He’s a total riot, and he knows all the nitpicky rules better than anyone, so he’s good for some color commentary, too.”

“It’s a plan, then,” Hunter announced with finality. “Can I pick you up around 6, Bob?”

Bobbi nodded, and was suddenly overcome with the sensation that another one of those missing life pieces had slotted itself into place.

* * *

Because Natasha and Clint were seniors, they were able to leave school at lunchtime if they wanted to, which meant that they often didn’t join Mack, Hunter, and Bobbi for lunch until about halfway through the period. When they did join them, they usually came bearing half-empty cartons of French fries or big to-go cups from the various fast-food restaurants they frequented with the power of the senior privileges, and today was no different.

Bobbi had made it most of the way through the lunch that Phil had packed for her that morning, with only a few nibbled bits of PB&J and a handful of carrot sticks left, and Mack and Hunter had finished their lunches as well when Natasha and Clint plunked themselves down at the table, still sipping on sodas from the Taco Bell down the street.

“South of the border, today, I see,” Hunter remarked. Natasha snorted.

“More like south of Green Street, but sure,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“What can I say, I had a hankering for a taco with a shell made out of a giant Dorito,” Clint shrugged. “When you crave Cool Ranch, you don’t say no.”

“You do if you’re a sophomore,” Mack griped. “They should let younger grades go out, too. Hunter has a car.”

“You paying for my gas, mate?” Hunter teased. “I can’t just chauffeur you around all day just because you want a taco.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Remember when we were so young and full of longing, Nat?” Clint simpered, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Now we’re wizened and gray and full of knowledge… and tacos.”

“You’re hilarious,” Mack deadpanned. _Sarcasm._

Bobbi enjoyed spending time with the four of them more than she had ever enjoyed the company of anyone else her age, but they all talked and joked back and forth so quickly that it was hard to keep up, sometimes. Still, it was worth the extra effort, because Bobbi had never met other kids as nice and as funny as them.

“So what’s new?” Natasha asked, changing the subject pointedly.

“Bobbi’s coming to the game with us tonight,” Mack announced. Clint and Natasha both smiled.

“Oh, awesome,” said Natasha. “I’m glad Mack finally convinced you to come. He’s been trying since you first got here. The games are fun, you’ll have a good time.”

“For sure,” Clint agreed. “And once we get you hooked on those, you can start coming to our games, too. We could use all the fans we can get.”

“Phil said he was coming, too,” Bobbi said, looking for a way to add herself into the conversation at last. “And he’s bringing May and my foster sis… cousins. He got really excited when I told him about it.”

“Excellent, Mr. C’s in!” Clint whooped. “He used to come to games all the time. He’s cool like that, coming to see all the sports, and he comes to other stuff like band concerts and musicals and stuff. It’s always hilarious to see how into everything he gets.”

“But nice, too,” Natasha added quickly. “It’s always cool to see teachers supporting students like that.”

The warning bell rang before Bobbi could formulate a response, and they all rose to toss out their trash before heading to their next class.

“Don’t forget, Bob, 6 o’clock. Text me your address, okay?” Hunter called as he started to drift towards the cafeteria door. _Okay. Okay? No. Not okay._ Bobbi didn’t have a phone. She had lost hers sometime between getting hurt by her dad and waking up in the hospital, and it hadn’t really occurred to her before now that she would need a replacement one.

She was sure it sounded crazy to go weeks without missing your phone, but part of that time she had been in the hospital and on a considerable amount of pain medication, and the rest of the time she had been more focused on acclimating to the abundance of newness than keeping up with a phone. Her dad didn’t let her have any social media accounts, so she didn’t use her phone for that, and the only people she ever really texted were the girls in the soccer team group chat, but that was mostly about scheduling practice times and arranging carpools home from games.

Hunter was already gone before Bobbi had a chance to string together the words to tell him that she had no way of texting him, as was Mack and Clint. The only person still standing there with her was Natasha, who was looking at her expectantly.

“Ready to head to French?”

* * *

“Êtes-vous excité pour le match de ce soir?” Natasha’s question cut through the fog in Bobbi’s head and drug back into reality.

“Huh? Oh, um, Je veux l'aubergine,” Bobbi managed to spit out. They were sitting French class, and Mrs. Duvall had asked them to partner up for conversation practice while she went to go pick up some copies she had forgotten in the teachers’ lounge.

“What? Who said anything about eggplants?” Natasha tilted her head and gave Bobbi an x-ray gaze. “Did I lose you, there, petit savant?”

“I’m taller than you,” Bobbi pointed out. “It doesn’t make much sense to call me that.”

“I’m older,” Natasha countered, “so you’ll always be littler than me no matter how Amazonian you become.” Bobbi blushed and looked down at her notebook, where she had been doodling spirals. Twirling her batons was always the best way to help her think, but she had figured out a few other temporary replacements for when it wasn’t socially appropriate to pull out two big wooden sticks and start swinging them around. Drawing spirals, swirling her pen round and round down the margin of her notebook page, wasn’t as effective, but it helped to take the edge off and kept her hands busy while she thought.

She needed a way to let Hunter know about her phone situation, which wasn’t an insurmountable problem by any means, but she knew that there would be follow up questions if she was honest about not having one. Lying to Hunter and the rest of her new friends about her living situation made her stomach feel tight every time she thought about it, and she wasn’t interested in cooking up another story to explain why she, a fifteen year old girl from a middle class Midwestern family, didn’t have a cell phone.

And if she was partially honest and told him that she had lost it in the “car crash” that had sent her to Manitowoc in the first place, she felt like she was getting to know Hunter well enough to know that he wouldn’t just let the matter go. Hunter seemed incapable of keeping his thoughts and questions to himself, which normally resulted in a slew of witty and sarcastic comments that he muttered under his breath almost constantly, but also meant that he was more likely to keep pressing for information when Bobbi didn’t have any to give. She needed to tell someone who would accept her story at face value. Someone like Mack, who wouldn’t push, or like –

“Hey, is everything okay?” Natasha interrupted her thoughts once again. This time, she spoke in English and in a concerned undertone. “You keep spacing out on me, Bobbi.”

Bobbi blinked. She could tell Natasha. It was harder to lie to Natasha, that Bobbi knew for sure, but Natasha hadn’t shown herself to be much of an information fisher so far. There were times where Bobbi felt like Natasha saw right through her and knew that most everything out her mouth was untrue, but if Natasha didn’t believe her, she hadn’t said a word to Bobbi about it. Maybe that was a sign that she was the one to talk to. It was so complicated, having friends she was supposed to talk to about things other than soccer practice or the buy-one-get-one special at the drive-thru, while also having so many secrets to keep.

“Sorry,” Bobbi apologized. She clenched and unclenched her fingers around the barrel of her pen. The doodling wasn’t cutting it. She wanted to twirl, badly. “Just thinking about a lot. We’re supposed to be doing conversations, right? Uh, le temps est beau aujourd'hui, no?”

“Forget the weather. Mrs. Duvall isn’t coming back for a while. She always has trouble with the copier. Talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

“En français ou en anglaise?” Bobbi asked. She tried to make it sound light and jovial, like a joke, but really, she was stalling for time. Why was the subject of her phone making her so jumpy? And why were the lights so bright in the classroom? Her fingers twitched again and she folded them into a fist to keep herself still.

“In English is fine,” Natasha rolled her eyes, smiling. The smile didn’t make it all the way up her face. She knew that Bobbi was putting up a shield. “Did something happen this morning? You were quiet in Spanish and at lunch, too.”

Bobbi shook her head, then paused and considered. “Well,” she admitted, “there was a thing with my… with Skye and Jemma, but that wasn’t a big deal, I don’t think.”

“Skye and Jemma?”

“My foster sisters, or foster… cousins.” Bobbi grimaced. She had stumbled over it once again.

“Oh right,” Natasha nodded. “I forgot. The two girls Mr. Coulson and his wife are fostering.”

“I don’t really know what to call them… since Phil is my uncle, I mean,” shrugged Bobbi. She stared at Natasha’s left ear when she lied so that she wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. Too risky.

“I’m sure that’s confusing,” Natasha said gently. “Foster relationships can get a little complicated.” _Complicated. Everything was so complicated._ “What was the thing?”

“Huh?”

“You said a thing happened with them. What was the thing?”

“Oh.” Bobbi took a brief second to weigh the benefits and drawbacks of sharing this story with Natasha, then decided it was safe to tell. She had already told Mack and Hunter anyways. “Well, I think Skye got in trouble for something. I’m not sure what, but Phil and May had a talk with her, I guess. Nothing bad happened, but it made Jemma all worried, and she was about two steps away from totally freaking out in the car. I did my best to help her out, but she seemed really upset. I guess I had just never seen her like that. I’d never seen Phil give someone a talking to before, either. It was just kind of weird.”

Natasha pursed her lips thoughtfully. It was a minute before she spoke.

“I’m sure you did a great job with her. She probably appreciated having someone nice be there with her while she was scared. She’s in middle school, right?” Bobbi confirmed with a nod. Natasha rolled her pencil back and forth across her desk with a single, slender finger and took breath before continuing.

“I don’t want to speculate or anything, but it’s possible that the two of them have had some bad experiences with getting in trouble before. Being foster kids, and all. Some parents don’t really understand the line between discipline and straight-up abuse.” _Abuse. Abuse. Abuse. Was what he did abuse? That was such a harsh sounding word for someone who was supposed to be her father._

Bobbi swallowed hard. Her fingers twitched again, hard, and she let herself start to twirl her pen between her fingers. Something in her chest started to feel tight, like a spiderweb was building up over her lungs. A swarm of bees was filling up her veins. The lights were too bright, and she wanted something better to twirl than a ballpoint pen. She wanted her batons. She wanted to _run._ The conversation was veering dangerously close to a place where Bobbi did not want it to go.

“That’s a good point,” she croaked. Her voice had stopped working for some reason.

“I mean, I don’t know that for sure or anything,” Natasha said quickly. “It’s just possible that it was like, a trigger for Jemma or something. But it sounds like you did a good job helping her out.” Bobbi just shrugged. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being praised for getting Jemma to recite DNA sequences to keep her from hyperventilating.

“What did you do?” Natasha asked. “To help calm her down, I mean.” Bobbi told her about the DNA thing, and the corners of Natasha’s mouth twitched up into the kind of smile that was holding back a laugh.

“She just really like biology and lists and stuff like that,” Bobbi tried to explain. She didn’t want Natasha thinking that Jemma was an oddball. “I just tried to distract her with stuff she likes.”

“I think it sounds genius.” Natasha smiled for real and reached out a hand like she was going to rest it on Bobbi’s arm reassuringly. Bobbi shifted her arm quickly, but casually enough to not draw attention to the fact that she was avoiding Natasha’s touch. If she noticed, Natasha didn’t comment on the behavior, which Bobbi was grateful for. It wasn’t anything personal, but Bobbi still felt like she was buzzing inside and she was afraid that if someone touched her, even someone she mostly trusted, like Natasha, she might actually burst into flames.

“Hey, you know what?” Natasha said suddenly, diving down into her backpack and rummaging around. “I think I have something your sister-cousin-whatever you want to call her might like.” She emerged with an assortment of colored beads and a string clutched in her fist. Bobbi raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“We had an exam in AP Bio today, and Mrs. Diaz always gives us goofy little crafts and puzzles and stuff to do if we finish early. This was supposed to be DNA double helix bracelet, but I’m not exactly the crafty type.” She tipped the beads and string onto Bobbi’s desk, the plastic making a sound like hail as it cascaded down in front of her. She cupped her hands around the beads to keep them from rolling off of the desktop.

“I think you’re supposed to string the different colors on in the right order, and then loop and twist the string so it looks like a double helix or something.” Natasha shrugged sheepishly and Bobbi felt herself smile. The buzzy feeling was starting to subside, and her breaths didn’t feel quite so sharp in her ribs. Whatever had come over her was passing, thankfully.

“They’ve got the little letters on them,” Bobbi noticed, turning the beads over and inspecting them. “A’s, T’s, G’s, and C’s. Jemma’s going to love this. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Natasha grinned. “I was honestly just going to string it together however and give it to Clint. Maybe make him wear it in his hair like a padawan braid. But this is way better.” Bobbi laughed at the idea of Clint wearing a string of beads in his hair like a Star Wars character. Some people could pull that look off, but she didn’t think Clint was one of them.

“I guess it might make him look a little like Anakin in _Attack of the Clones_ ,” Bobbi mused. “They have kind of similar hairstyles.”

“I don’t know if I’d call ‘short and blonde’ a true hairstyle,” Natasha laughed. “Although Clint would probably tell me that I’m wrong. He’s very sensitive about his hair.”

Mrs. Duvall returned then, weighed down with a hefty stack of freshly copied worksheets, so the girls’ conversation was brought to an end until the bell signaled the end of class. Natasha waited patiently for Bobbi to get to her feet and navigate the desks and chairs on her crutches, and as they stepped out into the hall, Bobbi felt a surge of confidence.

“Hey, Natasha?”

“Yeah?”

“Hunter asked me to text him my address for the game tonight, but I don’t exactly have a phone right now, or his number. Do you think you could let him know?”

“Definitely.” Natasha pulled out her own phone and sent her fingers flying across the screen. “I’ll just text Clint, he's always on his phone in class. They’ll see each other at practice, and he can tell Hunter. What’s the address?”

Bobbi told her, and was amazed at how easy the conversation had been. She had gotten herself worked up for nothing. That was another one of her dad’s favorite criticisms of her – if she wasn’t acting like a robot, she was being too emotional. It was basically impossible to please him, which is why Bobbi had resorted to expressing as little of her thoughts and feelings around him as she could. She was starting to see that wasn’t the case with the new people in her life, however, and she found herself almost exhilarated at the success she’d had by opening up to people. _No, not people. Her friends._

“We’ll see you later on tonight,” Natasha said as she started to part ways with Bobbi in the hall. “I’m glad you’re coming. It’s going to be fun!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the French was atrocious... I took Spanish for 7 years instead, so I had some assistance from good ol' google translate for this one :)


	29. Manitowoc vs. Mishicot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor swearing

Skye and Jemma had both been excited when Phil had told them about their new evening plans on the car ride home from school, Skye especially. Jemma was still behaving sort of tentatively, not looking up much and saying even less, but at least she smiled when Phil began to explain how much fun the high school soccer games usually were. Skye, on the other hand, didn’t seem chastened at all from the morning’s events, and was practically bouncing up and down in her seat at the prospect of going to a game.

“Do you think there’ll be lots of people there?” she asked. “What about those trumpet thingies they used at those games on TV a long time ago?”

“Vuvuzelas,” Jemma supplied, without a second thought.

“Yeah, those. Do people bring those? Will they have popcorn, do you think? I’ve always wanted to get popcorn in one of those red boxes like you see in movies.”

Phil was chuckling at her enthusiasm, and Bobbi found herself failing to conceal a smile. It was nice to see someone so excited about soccer. It had been a while since Bobbi had gotten to see that, much less feel it, and it was starting to become infectious.

“Skye, I didn’t realize you liked soccer so much,” Phil laughed. “We could have gone to a game sooner if I’d known.”

Skye shrugged. “I don’t really know anything about it. One of my old foster brothers really liked it, so it was on TV all the time, and it seemed like it would be fun. The fans looked like they we’re having a good time. Plus, I’ve never been to a game before.”

“A soccer game?” Phil asked.

“Any game,” Skye said matter-of-factly. “I hope they win. That would be fun.”

“It would,” Phil agreed. “It’s always exciting when that happens. Even if they don’t, though, the games are usually lots of fun. The girls play hard, and they’re pretty good this year, from what I’ve heard.”

“Do you like soccer, Jemma?” Bobbi asked. She was hoping to coax the younger girl into the conversation. After what had happened this morning, Bobbi felt like it would be good of her to be more aware of Jemma’s feelings. If people had mistreated her or done something that made her get so nervous now when people got in trouble, well… Bobbi understood that. One of the worst things about feeling like that was how alone it could make you feel, and Bobbi was determined to make sure that Jemma, and Skye too, for that matter, knew she could look to Bobbi to be a friendly face.

“Some,” Jemma said after a moment. “My mum really liked a club in England called Watford, but it was hard for her to watch them once we moved here. She would make paper rosettes in their colors for us to wear on match days, though, even if we couldn’t see.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Phil smiled. They were nearing the house, and he eased the car into the driveway. “Maybe if you two finish your homework we can make some ourselves before we leave tonight.”

“Maybe.” Jemma looked down at her lap, where her fingers were twisting together. She wore a lemony expression. It was hard for Bobbi to put a label on – a little like a mixture of confused, nervous, and sad.

“Only if you want to,” Phil said gently. “If you’d rather keep that memory for yourself, that’s okay, too.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course, kiddo. You can take as long as you need. Let’s get inside, shall we? It’s getting hot sitting here in this car.”

* * *

The Coulson house was in disarray by the time Hunter pulled up out front and gave two quick blasts on his horn to let Bobbi know that he had arrived. Phil had spent most of the afternoon trying to wrangle Skye into doing her math homework, but she hadn’t been able to focus or sit still hardly at all. She kept getting up from the table to go get things she had forgotten in her room, or to get water, or any variety of other excuses she had cooked up. Phil was being patient with her, and Jemma didn’t seem phased by it at all, but Bobbi had a hard time concentrating on her own work with all the up and down and constant chatter Skye was supplying them with.

As the time drew closer to six, Phil began to split his time between the homework table and the kitchen stove, where he was trying to throw together a quick dinner. He had a pot of yellow rice simmering on one eye, and a pot of black beans on the other, and was also trying to prod Skye back into her seat so she could continue her worksheet on ratios.

“Do you want help?” Bobbi found herself asking. She cooked all the time for her dad, and she had given up on trying to finish her gerund conjugations for Spanish. The conjugations weren’t hard, but concentrating was.

“No, you don’t have to—” Phil began. One of the lids on the pots started rattling as it began to bubble over. He dashed back over to the stove and adjusted the heat. “Well, actually, if you wouldn’t mind… I guess I’m a little in over my head.” He smiled sheepishly. Bobbi got to her feet and clacked her way over to the stove, balancing on her crutches once she arrived so she’d have free use of her hands.

“I can help, too,” Skye offered, popping up from her seat again.

“You can help once you’re finished with your math,” Phil said firmly. “You’re so close, you only have three problems left.” Skye pouted, but sat back down and picked up her pencil once more. At the same time, Jemma set hers down and began to pack her own things back up into her backpack. Apparently, she was finished with her work.

“I think,” she started to say, but her voice was lost in the din of the kitchen. She tried again, a little louder. “I think we could make rosettes. That would be okay.”

“That’s great, sweetie,” Phil smiled. Bobbi couldn’t be sure, but his eyes looked tired to her. “Why don’t you go and get some paper from the office. I think we have some colored sheets in there. The school colors are red and black, so see if you can find something that will work.”

“I’m done,” Skye announced. She slid her sheet across the table towards Phil. “Will you check it?” Jemma disappeared towards the office, and Phil bent over Skye’s homework, leaving Bobbi with the cooking. She tipped the lid off of the beans pot to give the mixture a stir when a sudden bubble of liquid burst out of the pot and splashed onto the front of her shirt. She reeled back, almost losing her balance, and Phil looked up at the commotion.

“Oh my gosh, Bobbi, are you okay?” He was at her side almost immediately, a steady hand on her upper arm to help her stabilize herself. Without meaning to, she flinched away from his touch, and Phil quickly pulled his hand back to his side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay,” Bobbi cut him off. _Okay, okay, okay._ She knew he wasn’t trying to upset her. He didn’t need to apologize for her being overly sensitive.

“Are you hurt? Did you get burned?” he asked, his voice full of worry.

“No,” Bobbi said again. “It just got on my shirt is all. I think I have to go change.” She was on her way out of the kitchen when Jemma came back in, a stack of white paper in her hands.

“This was all I could find. There wasn’t a very clear organizational system in the office.”

“That’s probably true,” admitted Phil. “I’ll help you look in a second. Bobbi, go change, I’ll watch the stove. Skye, you need to check those last two again.”

Skye groaned, and Jemma darted out of the kitchen again, almost bumping into Bobbi on her way out. Bobbi teetered in the doorway before righting herself once more and heading for the stairs. The house was rarely what Bobbi would call calm, but this was verging on chaotic.

She was in her room when she heard the front door open and close, signaling the arrival of May, and had just wrestled her stained shirt off when the honk of Hunter’s horn rang out. Perfect.

Frantically, Bobbi rifled through her drawers, looking for a new shirt to put on. What was someone supposed to wear to her first ever outing with friends at a new school, anyway? She was still digging when she heard May’s voice calling to her from the bottom of the stairs.

“Bobbi? I think your friends are here.”

Bobbi let out a huff of frustration. Everything was happening too fast and too much and she needed a second to get her head on straight, but Hunter was waiting.

“Bobbi?” A knock came softly on her bedroom door. “Everything okay in there?” It was May.

“I—” A strangled sounding noise escaped from Bobbi’s mouth, and she cleared her throat to try again, hoping May hadn’t heard. _Okay._ “I’m just trying to find a new shirt.”

“Okay,” May said. It was hard to tell what she was thinking without seeing her face. “I can go tell your friends you’ll be right out.” The sound of retreating footsteps drifted underneath the door, and Bobbi found herself filled with an overwhelming urge to ask May for help. She had no idea where the impulse came from, but she heard herself calling for May to wait before she could process the thought fully. The footsteps stopped.

“Will you… I…” Bobbi grit her teeth and squeezed hard on her crutches. She needed to just spit it out. Hunter was waiting on her. “I don’t know what to wear.”

“I’m happy to help,” May said from the other side of the door. “Would you like me to come in?” Hurriedly, Bobbi pulled her old shirt back over her head before opening the door slightly for May to slide into the room.

“Well I can see why you’d like to change,” May smiled, gesturing to the large black bean stain that filled up most of Bobbi’s stomach. Bobbi tugged the corner of her mouth up in a half-hearted return. “Why don’t you pick something comfortable? Something that makes you feel good when you wear it?”

“Is that okay?” Bobbi asked. “I mean, to just wear something normal and comfortable when you’re meeting up with friends?” She was worried she was sounding stupid, like she didn’t know how to dress herself, but May didn’t look bothered by the question.

“Of course,” May laughed. “It’s just a soccer game, Bobbi. Most people don’t get dressed up when they’re just going to hang out.” She paused. “Unless this is more than just hanging out?”

“No,” Bobbi said quickly, her cheeks growing warm. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Hunter’s picking me up, but Mack and Natasha and Clint are all going to be there. I just don’t have a lot of experience hanging out.”

“Well then, casual comfort sounds like the way to go,” said May. Somewhat emboldened to make a decision, Bobbi settled on one of her favorite t-shirts. The bruises on her arms had all fully healed, so she wouldn’t get suspicious looks wearing short sleeves, and it was still unseasonably warm for October, so a t-shirt wouldn’t leave her feeling cold by the end of the night.

“ _Star Wars_ , nice,” May smiled, giving the shirt a quick once-over. “Phil’s going to be over the moon when he sees that. He loves those movies.”

“They’re some of my favorites,” Bobbi admitted. “My dad took me to go see _Revenge of the Sith_ in the movie theater when I was six. That was before my mom left, so he still did fun stuff with me back then. My mom got all mad at him for showing me a PG-13 movie, and they got in a big fight later, but the movie was good. Kind of sad, I guess.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” May whispered. “Phil always cries during the Order-66 scene. I can’t say I blame him. That one’s rough, especially when you’re like Phil and know all the names and backstories of the random Jedi they show.” Bobbi nodded seriously. She knew exactly what May meant.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get changed,” May said then, making her way to the door. “Make sure you take a jacket or a sweatshirt with you. I know it’s warm now, but when the sun goes down it might get chilly. Have fun with your friends, and Phil and I will see you later on, okay?” Bobbi nodded again.

She changed quickly and ran a brush through her hair for good measure. All of the shirts going on and off had tousled it more than she cared for. Before leaving, she decided to pull her batons out from underneath her pillow where she’d stashed them and give them a quick twirl to release some of the tension that had been building up in her arms all afternoon. It wasn’t a long spin, but it was enough to help her feel steady as she hobbled down the stairs and out to the street where Hunter was waiting.

* * *

Hunter’s car was almost exactly what Bobbi would have guessed it would be, given what she knew about him. It was a dusty and dingy-looking sedan with the kind of squared-off angles and bulky headlights that indicated it was probably older than Hunter himself. There was rust creeping out of some of the wheel wells and it looked like the back bumper had been reaffixed with duct tape, but Bobbi thought it was one of best-looking cars she had ever seen. It just seemed to fit Hunter so well that she couldn’t see the car as anything but perfect.

“Hey, Bobbi! Front seat’s open for you,” Hunter hollered out of the open window. “The handle sticks a bit, but it’ll come open if you jiggle it a second.” Bobbi loped down to the car and over to the passenger side. Glancing in the back, she noticed a wiry-looking boy about Skye and Jemma’s age talking animatedly to a bemused Mack, who was folded up into a seat of his own.

“Didn’t you want the front, Mack?” Bobbi asked as she clambered in. His knees were practically scrunched up to his chest in the cramped backseat.

“Nah,” Mack waved her off. “Front’s easier with your crutches, plus it means I get to hang with Turbo, here.”

Bobbi twisted around in her seat to get a good look at the boy she now understood to be Hunter’s cousin. He didn’t look much like him, Bobbi thought, besides the shape of their chins, which had a similar point, and possibly their noses, which were both somewhat long and narrow. The boy had rounder cheeks and ears that stuck out from his head, plus hair that was much thicker and curlier than Hunter’s.

“That’s my cousin Leo,” Hunter said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the boy. “Anyone who’s not one of our mums calls him Fitz, though.”

“Hello,” Fitz waved. “We were just talking about the pros and cons of playing football on a grass versus turf field. They put turf in at the high school over the summer and Mack thinks it changes the way the ball rolls. He’s right, of course, the friction patterns are completely altered when such a drastically different material is used.”

“Oh.” Bobbi was a little taken aback by the abruptness with which Fitz had struck up a conversation, and about turf no less.

“I didn’t say it like that,” Mack chuckled, “but I know the ball’s been spinning differently for me this year.”

“Turf can be tricky,” Bobbi remarked. The field at her old school in Two Rivers had been grass, and she always knew to prepare herself for an extra challenge managing the ball when they played at schools with turf fields.

“Plus it’s a killer to tackle on,” Hunter griped. “You get scrapes that are way worse when you slide on turf instead of grass. I’ve come home all bloodied up from practice more times than I can count already this year.”

“I suppose they switched it over because it’s easier to play American football on,” Fitz mused. “They probably benefit from the altered traction. Plus, the upkeep is brought to a minimum with artificial turf.”

“No watering, no mowing,” nodded Mack. “I bet the school must have gotten tired of paying somebody to take care of the grass all the time.”

“Not that I don’t find discussions of plastic grass fascinating,” Hunter interceded, before Fitz could reply. “But might I recommend a change of subject now that we’ve got a full car? Maybe something that won’t put the driver to sleep?”

Mack laughed, and Fitz scrunched up his nose at the back of Hunter’s head. Bobbi was reminded of Skye for a brief moment, and the way she would pretend to be upset and pull faces when things didn’t go her way. Still, he wasn’t much deterred, apparently, since he began to chirp away about the upcoming game without missing a beat.

“They’re anticipating that Mishicot’s going to play an aggressive game tonight,” he said. “They’ve apparently got an all-state striker that they’re leaning on heavily, and tradition dictates that the team won’t be playing conservatively.”

“We can take ‘em,” Mack said confidently. “Elena’s the best midfielder we’ve had in years, so they’ll have to work hard to get past her.”

“Plus there’s that senior girl, Alicia,” Hunter added. He kept his eyes on the road, which Bobbi appreciated. For someone who acted as lackadaisical as he did, Hunter was a remarkably safe driver. “She’s one of our defenders. She’s so good at defending it seems like there’re two of her out there at a time,” he explained for Bobbi’s benefit. “Bobbi, we never asked, what position do you usually play?”

“We used a 4-3-3 formation, so I mostly played right mid. Sometimes I’d slide up to a right striker if we needed to rotate,” Bobbi said. She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing noticeably. Talking about herself made her feel awkward, especially in a car full of people who clearly knew a lot about the game. “I played stopper as a freshman, mostly because that was where they needed somebody, but I like midfield a lot better.”

“You were varsity as a freshman?” Mack asked, impressed. Bobbi nodded sheepishly.

“Sounds like somebody else we know,” Hunter teased, glancing at Mack in the rearview mirror. Mack shot him a look, but didn’t make a further comment.

“Our girls mostly run a 4-2-4,” continued Hunter, “so you’d have to shift a little if you played with them, but it sounds like that wouldn’t be much of an issue for you.”

“So far this is the only issue I’m worried about when it comes to soccer,” Bobbi said, gesturing towards her braced knee. “I still don’t even know if I’m going to ever be able to play again.” Her throat tightened at the thought, but she swallowed hard to send the fear back down to her stomach.

“A lot of athletes make full recoveries from knee injuries,” Fitz piped up. “Is yours an ACL issue?”

“Fitz, shut it,” Hunter warned. “It’s rude to ask people about their injuries.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bobbi assured them. Something about Fitz’s inquisitiveness regarding her health and his persistent need to ask questions reminded her of Jemma, and the thought made her smile. “It’s my kneecap, actually. It got fractured about a month ago. I had surgery on it, and the doctors said it was a clean break, which helped, I guess. I’m seeing a physical therapist. I’m still not supposed to move it, so he hasn’t done much with me yet, but he’s helping me keep the rest of my leg strong.” Fitz’s mouth fell open into a perfect “o.”

“You said your name was Bobbi, right?”

“Yes, Fitz, pay attention, mate,” Hunter groaned. He turned his head slightly towards Bobbi. “The kid’s brilliant, but he can be thick as a plank sometimes. He’s not the most observant.”

“I am too,” Fitz protested, jutting out his chin and crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest. “I notice more things than you. Things that are interesting to me, at least. Like this morning, I noticed that my Tandem-X rocket was almost four centimeters away from where I left it last night, so I know you touched it—”

“I bumped into the table,” Hunter explained. “I tried to put it back. Can you skip to the point, please?”

“I was just going to say that my best friends have a foster sister named Bobbi who has a fractured knee. It’s an interesting coincidence.”

“Wait,” said Bobbi, twisting around in her seat again. What should have been an obvious realization was crashing over her. “You’re _Fitz_ Fitz? Like, Skye and Jemma’s friend, Fitz?”

“You know Jemma and Skye?” Fitz looked gobsmacked. Bobbi could almost see the wheel turning in his head. “So then… it’s _not_ a coincidence. Or rather, it _is_ a coincidence, just an entirely different one from what I thought!”

Hunter and Mack were both cackling in their seats.

“I can’t believe we didn’t figure out you all knew each other sooner,” Hunter crowed. “I owe you an apology, Fitz, it’s not just you that’s thick as a plank. I should have put the pieces together weeks ago.”

“They’re coming tonight,” Bobbi told Fitz with a smile. Now she understood why so many of his mannerisms reminded her of her foster sisters – it was no wonder the three of them had become fast friends. Fitz wore an expression of pure glee at the news. Before she knew it, he was off and jabbering on about how smart and funny his two best friends were, and how they ate lunch together and how he and Jemma had all of their classes together. It was kind of cute to hear how much the girls meant to him, and Bobbi appreciated learning about what Skye and Jemma were like away from home.

* * *

Hunter pulled up outside the stadium a few minutes later and eked them into a narrow parking spot on a side street. They all piled out of the car, and Bobbi got a good look at Hunter as he stretched himself into a standing position. He was wearing a clean t-shirt and jeans, which boosted her own confidence in her outfit choice, and his hair was still a little damp with comb lines in it, which made Bobbi think he had taken a shower right before coming to get her. She supposed that made sense, if he and Mack had come from practice. His t-shirt hung neatly off his sharp shoulders and down to his waist, where the hem barely covered the waistband of his jeans. When he stretched his arms upward, the shirt rose slightly, revealing a section of pale, smooth stomach. Something in her intestines flipped, like an Olympic diver working on her routine, and suddenly her neck felt warm.

Hunter caught her watching him, and he flashed a cheeky grin her way. “Checking out the view?” Bobbi felt her face go scarlet, and she wanted to knock herself out with one of her crutches so that she wouldn’t have to admit that she had, in fact, been doing just that. It wasn’t like she liked him or anything, of course. She wasn’t checking him out like _that_. It had just been a simple observation. Quickly, she decided the safest reply was a sarcastic one, to try and deflect his attention.

“You wish,” she teased. Mack cracked up, and even Hunter started to laugh. Bobbi let out a sigh of relief knowing that she had dodged a bullet.

“I’m sure Bobbi has way better taste than to be checking you out,” Mack joked, knocking his gigantic shoulder into Hunter’s.

“I consider myself a catch, thank you very much,” Hunter protested. He massaged his shoulder like Mack had hurt him, but he was smiling, so Bobbi figured he was just playing.

“Can we go in now?” Fitz called impatiently. His face was all scrunched up like he didn’t have time to wait around on a bunch of high schoolers joking around, which made them all start laughing again.

“All right, all right,” Hunter assuaged, leading the way to the front gate. “Don’t lose your hairnet, Fitz, we’re coming.”

When they got to the gate, Bobbi was hit with the sickening realization that she didn’t have any money to pay for her ticket. She hadn’t thought about it beforehand, and even if she had, she wasn’t sure she would have had the courage to ask Phil for money. She hung back and started rocking absentmindedly on her crutches, trying to figure out how to tell the boys she was going to wait outside the gate for Phil and the rest of the family to get there without them getting suspicious. Mack noticed her sudden change in demeanor.

“You all right, Bobbi?” he asked. _All right. Right. Wrong. This was all wrong._

“Yeah, I…” Bobbi spluttered. “I just realized I… need to wait for Phil for something.” Mack looked confused, and opened his mouth like he was about to ask her what was going on. Before he could say anything, Hunter, who had been watching with an unreadable expression, handed a few extra dollars to the woman selling tickets and brought over the new ticket. He stuck it out in front of Bobbi.

“Go on, take it,” Hunter said. When Bobbi didn’t make any immediate movements, he pressed it into her hand. “I’m serious. I’m buying for me and Fitz anyways. You can pay me back later if you’re really that fussed about it, but it’s not a big deal.” _Big deal. Big._

Bobbi tried to protest, but Hunter wouldn’t hear it. “If you still need to wait for Mr. Coulson, you can do it inside the gate. Come on, we’re going to miss the warm-ups.”

Wordlessly, Bobbi took the ticket and followed the boys through the gate and into the stadium. She had no idea how Hunter had known what the issue was, and she couldn’t decide if she was grateful for his help or embarrassed that she’d needed it. Once they were inside, she managed to choke out a “thank you,” which Hunter waved off.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she promised.

“Only if you want to,” shrugged Hunter. “It really doesn’t matter to me either way. I’m just happy we got Fitz through the gate before he combusted.” Bobbi glanced over at Fitz, who was zipping back and forth between Hunter and Mack, pointing out different players who were warming up on the field and commenting on their strengths and weaknesses. It was a mystery to Bobbi how he knew so much about all of the girls in front of him, but she didn’t question his knowledge. She could see how the Mishicot girl, who Fitz said would be favoring her left, was being careful about how much weight she put on her right foot, so she figured the girl was nursing an injury and that Fitz would be right. She could see how sharply and precisely the Mishicot girl who she figured must be their star striker drilled her practice shots into the back of the net, confirming Fitz’s observation that she would be the one they needed to look out for. He was a little odd, but the kid knew his soccer.

“There’s Clint and Nat,” Mack said, pointing over to the home stands and waving. “Let’s go.”

They made their way up to the stands, where Natasha and Clint were already waiting for them. They both smiled at the approaching group and waved hello. Clint looked red-faced and hot, but was laughing uproariously at something Natasha had said just before they came into earshot.

“There is no way that really happened,” Clint wheezed. “That’s too unbelievably perfect.”

“I’m serious, I saw Gonzales check his moustache in the reflection of his car window and fix it with a tiny little moustache comb before he got in and drove away,” said Natasha. She was laughing too, and she pantomimed their Spanish teacher combing his walrus mustache, which sent Clint into another fit of giggles.

“Gonzales? That grumpy Spanish teacher you lot have?” Hunter asked, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“He’s not grumpy,” said Bobbi, coming to the defense of the man who was quickly becoming one of her favorite teachers. “He just takes things seriously.”

“Like his moustache grooming, apparently,” Mack snorted. “That’s probably the best thing I’ve heard all day, Nat.” He plunked himself down on the bleachers next to Clint and made a face. “Dude, you reek. Didn’t you shower in between practice and now?”

“Nah.” Clint flapped a hand as if to clear Mack’s comment from the air, or possibly his own sweaty B.O. “Wasn’t enough time to drive all the way home and make it back in time to scout the warmups. Natasha doesn’t mind, do you, Nat?” He threw an arm around her shoulders, which she wasted no time in squirming out from under.

“Oh, I mind very much,” she teased, “I’m just too nice to tell you that you stink.”

“Well I know that’s not true, because you’re never nice to me,” Clint ribbed back.

“You’re such a liar,” she laughed, giving him a playful shove. “Who was your only friend when you first moved here from Iowa all those years ago?”

“No, no, you’re remembering it wrong,” laughed Clint. “I was _your_ only friend, because I was the only one who didn’t mind that you still spoke mostly Russian. I’d just tune you out if you abandoned the English language, so it didn’t bother me one bit.”

“You’re such a little twerp, you know that?” Natasha said with feigned outrage. Mack and Hunter were cracking up. “I can’t believe you muted me!”

“Don’t act so surprised,” shrugged Clint. “I do it all the time.” To prove his point, he reached up towards his ears and fiddled with his hearing aids. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly louder than normal. “Now I can focus on getting the rundown on these Mishicot clowns.”

“You’re so annoying,” Natasha teased. As she spoke, she chopped her right hand into the space between her thumb and index finger on her left hand two times right where Clint could see it. Clint scowled and held out his left hand flat, then flicked the middle finger of his right hand across it towards Natasha.

“I’m not being rude,” she chuckled. “You’re the one who tuned us out. Turn them back on, please?” She used the same sign Bobbi had seen her use on the day they’d met, where she tapped her hooked pointer finger against the side of her head. Clint rolled his eyes, but smiled and turned his hearing aids back on.

“Honestly, she’s more of a pain in ASL than in spoken English,” he joked. “Never should have taught her anything.”

“Something tells me that wouldn’t have stopped her,” said Mack jovially. “She and Bobbi have that language-brain thing going on. She learns fast.”

Bobbi felt a sudden tugging on the sleeve of her shirt, and she craned her neck behind her to see Fitz, looking a little disgruntled and pulling on her cuff.

“When are Jemma and Skye getting here?” he asked. He had puppy dog eyes and a pitiful expression, and Bobbi couldn’t help but feel bad for him, having to sit there and listen to his cousin’s friends laugh at inside jokes. She leaned back slightly so that she could speak with Fitz more directly while the others continued to chat amongst themselves.

“I don’t know for sure, but I bet it’ll be soon,” she promised him. “They were going to eat dinner, maybe. I don’t think Phil was thinking about getting here in time for warmups, just in time for the game to start.” Fitz nodded solemnly and retrained his gaze on the soccer field.

“Why do you all like to get here so early anyways?” Bobbi asked him. She figured if his friends weren’t here yet, the least she could do was try and make some small talk to entertain him.

“Well, part of it is because none of us really has anything better to do, I suppose,” he said matter-of-factly. “My homework barely takes any time at all, and Lance doesn’t like to do his, and none of them do much besides watch football, talk about football, or play football, at least when it’s in season. Sometimes they watch movies, I think, but I’m not allowed to come to that. Sometimes they play video games, and I am allowed to come then. Mack plays with me, mostly. He’s good at _Tank Troopers_ and _Call of Duty_ , especially zombie mode, but I’m better at ones like _XCOM 2_ and _Warhammer_.” Bobbi didn’t know the first thing about video games, so it sounded to her like Fitz was speaking gibberish.

“What’s the other part of it?” she asked in an effort to steer the conversation back to something she could keep up with. “Why come so early?”

“Mostly it’s because we just like football,” he grinned. “We like to get here in time to see the other team warmup, so we can figure out their strengths and weaknesses. I like to try and guess what positioning and strategies the other side’s going to use before the game starts, and then see if I’m right later on. Also they get to talk when the teams are still warming up. We don’t do a lot of talking once the game starts.” Bobbi nodded thoughtfully.

“So like a scouting report?” she said after a minute.

Fitz pumped his head up and down. “Exactly.”

“Cool,” smiled Bobbi. If she hadn’t been sure before, this confirmed that these were people she could fit in with. She had loved reviewing film and studying her opponents before meeting them on the field. It was like a puzzle or a game to her, to pick out the things she’d need to know to exploit their weaknesses and dismantle their strengths.

“Here come our girls,” Hunter said, elbowing Bobbi in the side and interrupting her thoughts. He pointed down to the field where a squad of a dozen or so girls in Manitowoc red and black were trooping into place. Bobbi spotted Elena right away, her long hair tied back and her legs flexing powerfully as she jogged onto the field and began jumping and stretching in place. She cast her eyes sideways and noticed that Mack’s gaze was glued onto the younger girl, but she didn’t mention it. It was nice that Elena had someone as kind as Mack looking out for her and cheering her on, and she didn’t want to make Mack feel self-conscious about it.

“That’s Alicia Whitley, our best defender,” Hunter pointed out, directing Bobbi’s attention to an older-looking white girl with red hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head. “She’s a senior, so we don’t know her as well, but she’s a damn good player. She’s like a ginger ninja.”

“Aunt Alva says you’re not supposed to swear so much,” Fitz piped up from behind them. Hunter stuck out his tongue at him.

“I’ll buy you a hot dog if you don’t tell,” he offered. Fitz considered the offer seriously before responding.

“And some M&Ms,” he said finally. He looked deadly serious, but Hunter just laughed.

“Yeah, all right. It’s a deal.”

They watched in relative quiet for the next few minutes, Bobbi taking in the team as best she could. She spied the girl with the short brown hair named Piper who came to the AV club meetings, and a few other girls she had seen around the halls but didn’t know the names of.

“Who’s that one?” she asked, gesturing to an older girl with light brown skin and dark hair. She was wearing the number 33 jersey and seemed to be one of the better players warming up. She handled the ball with a quickness and precision that Bobbi didn’t often see with high school players, and when she took her practice shots, she demonstrated a killer ability to bend and guide the ball almost to her will.

“Kara Palamas,” Mack said. His expression was hard to read, but it struck Bobbi as something less than positive.

“She’s a senior, too,” Natasha explained. “Clint and I have had a few classes with her over the years. She’s… fine. Kind of competitive.”

“The girl’s intense,” Clint cut in. “She likes to be the best at stuff. She likes knowing she’s the best, too.”

“She’s a hard worker,” added Mack. He was trying to be charitable, Bobbi could tell. “And it pays off. She’s a killer striker. Probably going to be All-Wisconsin this year again, maybe All-American. She’s got her pick of scholarships lined up and waiting for her for college next year.”

“She’s great to watch on the field,” Hunter conceded. “It’s just that she’s a nightmare to speak with or interact with on any human level.”

“And yet she’s still considered top of the food chain,” lamented Clint. “While cool people like us are relegated to AV club and lunch tables next to the garbage bins.”

“I’d rather hang out in AV club and eat next to a trash can than spend much time with her and her stuck-up friends,” Natasha glowered. Bobbi hadn’t seen Natasha look so grim before. “And her boyfriend’s a real piece of work, too.”

“So, I’m guessing we don’t like her?” Bobbi asked. She tried to lighten the mood with the question, but it was only marginally successful.

“Like Hunter said, she’s a great player. Fun to watch. She scores most of our goals, and it’s nice to win games. I just wouldn’t exert too much energy trying to make friends.” Natasha shrugged. She seemed like she was trying to force herself to more diplomatic than she had been a moment ago.

“Speaking of her _delightful_ boyfriend,” Clint said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “do you all reckon Ward’s planning on showing up tonight?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Bobbi noticed Fitz bristle at the sound of Kara’s boyfriend’s name. She knit her eyebrows together with curiosity, but Fitz didn’t seem to catch her look.

“Not sure,” Mack said thoughtfully. “Christian doesn’t always come, but Mishicot’s a big game, so who knows?”

“I know I’d prefer if he didn’t,” grumbled Hunter. His teeth were gritted and his forehead was creased with a frown. A very _unhappy face_. Bobbi cut her eyes back to Fitz and saw that he, at least, had relaxed slightly. Apparently, whatever was bothering him had passed for the time being.

“Is there a story there I should know about?” Bobbi asked hesitantly. Nobody responded right away.

“Christian Ward’s not our favorite person,” Mack finally said. “He’s basically a walking stereotype of a grade-A high school jerk.”

“He plays on the football team – the American football team,” Hunter added, “which isn’t an automatic red flag, unless your English, of course, but he’s one of those sleezy future-politician type of kids who can charm the pants off of the people he considers valuable and who can smash you under his thumb if you’re not worth his time.”

“He sounds lovely,” Bobbi scoffed. Behind the bravado, however, a shiver ran down her spine. If she was being honest with herself, he sounded kind of like her dad. She began hoping that this Christian Ward wouldn’t make an appearance, if only for the fact that she wasn’t interested in dealing with someone who might set off her fight-or-flight. She gave the handles of her crutches a nervous squeeze to try and calm her now racing nerves.

“His brother’s not very nice, either,” Fitz mumbled. They turned to look at him, and Hunter wore a pained expression.

“I know mate,” he said sympathetically, clapping Fitz on the shoulder and giving him a quick squeeze. “And one of these days we’re going to do something about the both of them.”

“I told you, me and Skye and Jemma have a plan. Well, a part of a plan. Trip’s calling it a tactical retreat, but we’re going to figure it out.”

“Which I’m very pleased to hear about,” Hunter reassured him. “It’s about time you stood up to him. Just know that I’m working on a plan B of my own, if it comes to it.”

A few more minutes were passed with causal small talk that didn’t seem to center around anyone’s mortal enemies, which gave Bobbi a chance to fully settle herself down and get ready for the start of the game. Two quick blasts of the whistle from the referee signaled to the teams to line up, and Bobbi felt the old familiar electric current of adrenaline zip from the top of her head down to her toes. Even if she wasn’t playing, the start of a game still had the same effect on her, apparently. It felt like her eyes were brighter and everything around her was sharper in focus. For a brief moment, a powerful urge to leap out of the stands and dash onto the field flooded her senses, and Bobbi had to take a deep breath to remind herself that she was currently encased in a knee brace and not especially capable of leaping or dashing.

A crackling sound came over the stadium loudspeaker, and a voice that sounded like it belonged to one of the Muppets welcomed them all to Outlaw Stadium. A tinny, out-of-tune recording of a marching band filled the air, spilling the sounds of the national anthem over the bleachers and the field. Once the song was finished, the recording continued to play – this time a song Bobbi didn’t recognize. Everyone else seemed to though, because they all began to sing (or bellow, in Clint and Hunter’s case) along with the song.

“ _Standing here, with cheer, chant, and cry, it’s the pride of Manitowoc. We’ll never stand down from a challenge, or give up when we hit a block. We’re loyal, brave, and true, we’re fearless and sturdy and strong. So let’s hear it for the Outlaws, our victory shout: FIGHT ON!”_

Everyone around her was singing practically at the top of their lungs, and when they all reached the last two words, they shouted them as loud as they possibly could, pumping their fists in the air in time with the final two beats. Apparently, the people of Manitowoc High took their fight song very seriously, and Bobbi found herself more than a little incredulous at the sight. She didn’t think a single soul knew the words to the fight song at her old school, herself included. They all knew the tune, of course, but there was never any singing to accompany it. She supposed that a school where kids actually wore their lettermen jackets was more than likely to also be a school where people sang the fight song, so she opted to let the spectacle slide. Plus, everyone seemed like they were having an uproariously good time singing as loudly and ferociously as they could, and Bobbi wasn’t one to try and spoil the fun.

“Do they play that before every game?” she asked, smirking a little.

“Oh yeah,” Hunter panted. He had practically winded himself with the raucous effort of outshouting everyone in the stadium. “It’s the best way to get pumped up. Nothing like an Outlaw ‘Fight On,’ Bob.”

“Hunter and I will teach it to you before the next game,” Mack promised. “It’s actually pretty fun to just let loose and yell it as loud as you can.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Bobbi. She shook her head at their antics, but discovered a feeling of eagerness tapdancing around in her chest at the prospect of joining in the fun next time.

“Where’re are Jemma and Skye?” Fitz asked, tugging on her shirt sleeve again. “The game’s about to start.”

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Bobbi said. She didn’t want to tell Fitz, but she was starting to get a little antsy herself. Phil wasn’t usually late, even though he almost always seemed to be in a rush. She knew they were all probably just running a little bit behind, especially considered the state of things when she had left with Hunter and Mack, but that didn’t stop her from beginning to imagine a plethora of horrible reasons for their tardiness.

The referee blew out another signal on her whistle, and the captains of both teams met in the middle of the field to shake hands. Kara Palamas was the one who jogged out for Manitowoc, while the girl who Fitz had identified as the star striker represented Mishicot. Bobbi couldn’t be sure, but it looked to her like both girls were trying to crush the other’s hand when they shook, and the whole thing didn’t last more than a few seconds. Clearly there was some bad blood between the two teams, and Bobbi could tell they were in for a fierce and merciless match.

The game began with a lightning-quick pace, as the Mishicot girl handling the kickoff immediately began feeding the ball up the field. Their front line pushed hard and attacked without hesitation, and Bobbi watched as they began to set up for a long cross. Luckily, the defender, Alicia, noticed, too, and she cut off the play before it had time to take shape. She cleared the ball well, and Elena was the one who scooped it up. She flashed up the field, weaving in and out of defenders. If Mishicot had begun the game with an aggressive tempo, the one that Manitowoc was responding with was verging on frantic.

Kara Palamas called for the ball, and Elena fed it up to her smoothly. Bobbi was impressed by the younger girl’s poise and precision on the field, even in the midst of the careening speed of the game. To her credit, Kara Palamas wasted no time in demonstrating why she was the best one on the team. She flew up the field and past more Mishicot players than Bobbi could count, never once losing control of the ball.

As she neared the Mishicot goal, two defenders appeared in front of Kara, ready to block her.

“She needs to pass,” Bobbi called over the rising roar of the home fans as Kara drew closer and closer to the goal.

“Not likely,” Hunter said back. He pointed towards the field. “Just watch.”

As he spoke, Kara faked to the right, then moved to the left, poking the ball forward in between one of the defender’s legs. She ducked around the other girl, collected the ball on the other side, and had a clear path to the goal. Her shot was powerful and on target, but the Mishicot goalie had had enough time to get in position and read Kara’s feet, and she blocked the shot without much difficulty. The excited swell of the crowd was exhaled in an almost collective “aww.”

“That was a nice fake,” Bobbi conceded. “But Elena was open on the other side of the box. The goalie was totally focused on Kara. She could have passed it and given Elena an open shot.”

“Good luck telling her that,” chuckled Mack. “You don’t become the top goal-scorer in school history by passing all your shots away.”

“Bobbi’s right, though,” Hunter pointed out. “We might have had a point on the board if she hadn’t tried to take that one alone.”

“There’s still plenty of game left,” Clint reminded them. “No point in focusing on what’s already gone by.” They fell silent and turned their attention back to the field.

As the game continued, the pace slowed slightly, but not by much. Both teams were pushing as hard as they could and taking frequent shots. Some shots were more reckless than others, but it was clear to Bobbi that neither team was as concerned about missing shots as they were about simply taking them. It was a more aggressive style of play than she was used to, but she could understand how neither team would want to be the one to take their foot off of the gas in order to set up a more slow-burning play.

“Do they always play this hot?” she asked, leaning back towards Fitz so that she wouldn’t bother the others.

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s just the Mishicot game. It’s always a bit of a tangle. Usually they’re much more methodical.”

They were about halfway through the first half when Bobbi heard Fitz suck in an excited breath behind her.

“They’re here!” he exclaimed. He pointed towards the entrance to the stadium, where Phil, May, Skye, and Jemma were indeed walking in. Bobbi watched as May looked around the stadium briefly, then spotted her and nudged Phil to let him know that she was here. Not surprisingly, Phil smiled when he saw her and waved cheerily, and Bobbi waved back automatically. There was something so assuring about knowing there was a person who would always smile just at the mere sight of her. Granted, Phil probably smiled at the sight of every person he knew, but something still felt comforting about it. Even if he smiled at all of the other 7 billion people in the world, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he would still have a special smile just for her. He was just good that way.

“Can I go?” Fitz wheedled, prodding Hunter in the back.

“Yeah, just stay with your friends and Mr. Coulson,” Hunter told him. “Don’t go wandering off, all right? And meet us here at halftime so I can get you your hotdog.”

“And my M&Ms,” said Fitz pointedly. “Don’t forget them, either.”

“I won’t,” Hunter laughed. “Go see your friends, mate.”

Fitz scampered off, and Bobbi kept her eye trained on the boy as he darted over to where her foster family was standing. She had to smile when he started waving furiously well before he was in range of them, and she felt her heart leap upwards in her chest at the sight of Skye and Jemma lighting up when they saw him. Bobbi watched as the three children bobbed around each other, exchanging greetings and already talking a mile a minute. Skye looked up at May and Phil and asked something, and they both nodded. A moment later, she, Jemma, and Fitz took off for an empty section of bleachers, all still chatting and gesticulating wildly, leaving Phil and May behind to chuckle at their antics. As the scene unfolded in front of her, Bobbi felt like she was watching a movie about a picturesque American family – one with loving parents and happy children, all excited to take in an evening of high school sports. It was a charming scene, but Bobbi couldn’t help but wonder where she fit into it.


	30. Post-Game Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for swearing, bullying

The score was still zero-zero when the game reached halftime, although not for lack of trying on either team’s part. The Mishicot striker had been prolific, taking at least a dozen shots herself, and Kara Palamas hadn’t been slacking either, with nearly the same number of attempts to her name. Even Elena had a few opportunities at the net, but nothing had gone in, much to Mack’s dismay. Despite all of the shots taken, the defenses were doing their jobs, and both goalies had been in spectacular form.

It was certainly one of the more chaotic matches Bobbi had ever watched. There had already been three yellow cards – one on the Manitowoc left wing, and two on some of Mishicot’s defenders, and Mack, Hunter, and Clint had claimed there were at least four other fouls that hadn’t been called at all.

When Fitz failed to appear at the start of halftime, Hunter resigned himself to having to go and track down his younger cousin, and Bobbi decided to use the opportunity to go and check in with Phil and May.

“Hi Bobbi,” Phil beamed as she drew near to them. He and May had chosen a section of bleachers several rows back from where she and her friends had been camping. “Pretty intense game so far, right?” Bobbi nodded.

“It’s definitely a different style than I’m used to, but Mack and Hunter said that things are a little more amped up than usual because of who they’re playing.”

“That’s probably true,” agreed Phil. “These games always seem to be dialed up to 11 every year, no matter how good either team is. And they’re both highly ranked this year, so I’m not surprised it’s been such a slugfest.”

“Are you having a good time?” May asked. She studied Bobbi’s face as if she was searching for any signs of unhappiness or distress.

“Yes,” Bobbi said, with a bashful smile. “It’s been fun so far.”

“That’s fantastic,” said Phil at the same time as May’s reply of “I’m glad to hear it.” They looked at each other and laughed at their talking over one another.

“Sorry, we’re not trying to be so overly enthusiastic,” Phil said sheepishly. “We’re just happy that your first night out with friends is going well. We’ll cool it with the ‘hovering parents’ routine, we promise.”

“You’re not hovering,” Bobbi assured them. “I’m the one who came over to check in with you, remember?” They laughed again.

“Fair point,” Phil conceded. “So I guess we’re in the clear, then.”

“Oh, before we forget,” May said suddenly. “You left before you had a chance to eat, and we forgot to give you any money beforehand, either.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill, then held it out for Bobbi to take. Bobbi felt her face grow hot all of the sudden. Even if they were offering, she felt like she shouldn’t be taking their money.

“That was my fault,” Phil said. “I was so distracted with everything else going on that it completely slipped my mind to make sure you had money for your ticket and to get something to eat.”

“It’s okay,” Bobbi blushed. She didn’t want the two of them to feel like they had to bankroll her every activity, although the offer was tempting, as she still needed something to pay Hunter back with. She squeezed her crutch handles as her mind flipflopped back and forth over whether or not she should accept.

“Really, Bobbi, take it,” May insisted. “Paying for things like this is what parents do. It’s our job to make sure you’re taken care of. I have a reputation of being good at my jobs, and I’d like to keep it.” Bobbi looked into May’s face and saw that her eyes with sparkling with playfulness. _Happy face. Teasing face. Friendly face. It was okay._ She took the money.

“Everything’s pretty inexpensive here, so that should be enough, but you can let us know if it’s not,” Phil told her. Her cheeks were still warm, and she didn’t meet his gaze fully. “I mean it, Bobbi. Come find us if you need more. We’ll be happy to give you whatever you need.”

“Okay,” Bobbi said finally. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” May smiled. “You still have some time before the second half if you want to get something to eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.” Bobbi nodded, a little shyly. As she started making her way back down the stands, May called after her.

“Oh, Bobbi? If you see Skye and Jemma, would you tell them to come and check in with us, please? I’m sure they’re fine, but we haven’t seen them since we got here, and I’d like to at least lay eyes on them before they disappear for another half.”

Bobbi flashed a thumbs up back towards May and Phil, and May mouthed a word of thanks. She didn’t seem worried, so Bobbi resolved not to worry about the request either. She supposed it was just what good parents did, checking in on their kids at regular intervals instead of letting them run lose for hours at a time. It was nice, she decided. It was just yet another sign that the two of them genuinely cared, and it made a swarm of happy butterflies erupt in her ribs at the thought.

Bobbi made her way down to the concession stand and was pleasantly surprised to see Hunter and Fitz there, waiting in line.

“You’ve found each other, I see,” she observed.

“Took me long enough, but I managed to track him down,” Hunter said with a roll of his eyes. “He was _under_ the bleachers with the other two when I found him, believe it or not.”

“Jemma and I were explaining the rules of football to Skye, and we needed some dirt to diagram out the plays in,” Fitz explained. “Skye’s a much more visual learner.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Bobbi said thoughtfully. “Are they around here somewhere? I’m supposed to send them back to May and Phil for a check in.”

“They went to the loo when Lance came and got me, but they said they’d meet us here,” Fitz informed her. “Skye said something about wanting to get popcorn.” Satisfied, Bobbi nodded and took her place in line behind the boys. It didn’t take long for the line to move up and for Hunter to purchase Fitz’s snacks, plus a package of Twizzlers for himself. Bobbi followed suit and bought a hotdog of her own, then immediately turned around and pressed her change into Hunter’s hand.

“For my ticket,” she said.

“That was fast,” Hunter quipped. He pocketed the bills with a grin, however. “Although I did tell you that you didn’t have to pay me back.”

“I don’t like owing people.”

Hunter looked like he was about to respond with one of his trademark snappy comebacks when a body practically tumbled into Bobbi’s side.

“Bobbi!” It was Skye, out of breath and grinning like a jack-o-lantern. Jemma was only a few steps behind her, not running, but looking just about as happy. The knees of Skye’s jeans were covered in dirt, as were the heels of her hands, presumably from kneeling over the dusty soccer diagram Fitz and Jemma had been coaching her with. “Hi!”

“Hi yourself,” Bobbi smiled. “I was wondering where you two were. May and Phil sent me to look for you.”

“Are we in trouble?” Skye frowned. “They said we could go with Fitz if we didn’t go too far. We didn’t leave the bleachers, technically. Under still counts, right?”

“No, no, you’re not in trouble,” Bobbi said quickly, before the anxious flash in Jemma’s eyes became more permanent. “They just wanted to see you and check in before the second half started.”

“Oh.” Skye’s smile returned almost as quickly as it had vanished a moment ago. “Okay. We’ll go see them in a minute. We were going to get popcorn. Phil gave us money, look!” Skye brandished a fistful of crumpled bills that she had dug out of her pocket. “He said the popcorn would come in one of those red and white striped boxes, just like the movies.” Bobbi was glad to see that Skye’s elated mood from earlier in the afternoon hadn’t diminished one bit.

“That sounds good,” she said. “There’s not much of a line if you want to get some now.” Skye bounded up to the counter, Jemma in tow, and wasted no time in ordering. Bobbi marveled at the girl’s boldness, which she had only seen in true full force a few times since moving in. She could see how easily the two of them fit together, with Skye taking the lead and instilling courage into Jemma, and Jemma helping to temper and soothe some of Skye’s more reckless impulses.

When the pair returned to the spot where Bobbi, Fitz, and Hunter were waiting, Skye was practically vibrating with excitement at the cardboard box she had cradled in her arms. Jemma too held a box of popcorn like it was made of solid gold instead of buttery kernels.

“Big popcorn fans?” Hunter teased. “I’ll warn you now, they save the fresh batches for games with bigger crowds. It’s still pretty good, though, all things considered.” The girls both eyed him, although Skye’s expression was a lot more incredulous than Jemma’s uncertain one.

“This is my cousin Lance,” Fitz announced. “He thinks he’s much funnier than he is.” He tried to elbow Hunter in the side, but missed the mark and ended up bumping his shoulder into Hunter instead. Hunter snorted, and Bobbi had to bite back a smile of her own.

“You can call me Hunter,” he said gregariously, holding out a hand in a dramatic sweep. Neither girl shook it, and Skye arched an eyebrow at his theatrics. “I’m hilarious, actually, but Fitz doesn’t have much in the way of taste.”

“You’re Bobbi’s friend Hunter?” Skye asked. She turned to Fitz. “ _Your_ cousin is friends with _our_ Bobbi?” Fitz pumped his head up and down while Hunter looked slightly put out.

“Well you figured that out embarrassingly quickly,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Bobbi tried to suppress a giggle, but didn’t have much luck. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Skye had put the pieces together faster than they had – as much as Skye tried to mask it behind nonchalance, she was sharply observant of most things around her.

“Are you maternal cousins, then?” Jemma asked. She was looking at Hunter curiously, like he was a science project she hadn’t gotten to dissect yet.

“What?” Hunter looked confused momentarily, then realized what Jemma was asking. “Oh, yeah, our mums are sisters. Them and one more, but she lives in Chicago.”

“Our aunt Sharon,” Fitz supplied. “She comes round for holidays, but she works a lot.”

“Are you English?” Hunter blurted out suddenly, staring eagerly at Jemma. “Your accent—”

Jemma’s face flushed mercury red and she murmured a yes. Hunter grinned.

“I knew I recognized a kindred spirit. Fitz, you’ve got good taste in friends, mate. Too many Americans in this town, if you ask me.”

“We’re in America,” Skye said bluntly. Her brow was knit with skepticism. Bobbi didn’t blame her for not picking up on Hunter’s brand of humor right away. It had taken her several days to really have a beat on it, and she saw Hunter several times a day at school.

“That was the joke,” Hunter winked. “A little British humor for you, kid.” Skye didn’t look particularly impressed.

“I told you he’s not very funny,” Fitz grimaced. He and Skye and Jemma all exchanged knowing looks, like they were pitying poor Hunter and his odd sense of humor, and Bobbi had to cough loudly to keep from bursting out laughing at the sight of them.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Hunter warned.

“Can we go now?” Fitz asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “We still haven’t covered offside, and Skye needs to learn it before they start playing again.”

“And I want to show May and Phil our popcorn boxes,” Skye piped up. Hunter chortled and waved a hand in a lazy shooing motion, sending the younger kids on their way.

“You lot go on and enjoy the rest of the game. I won’t subject you to my presence any longer. Fitz, you come find me at the end, all right? I don’t want to have to go hunting you down when it’s time to leave.” Fitz nodded as he began to scurry away with Jemma and Skye.

“Don’t forget to see Phil and May,” Bobbi called at their retreating backs. Jemma was the only one who turned around to give a nod of acknowledgement, but Bobbi felt confident that if Jemma had heard her, then they would be sure to do as they had been told.

“God, I would kill to have half their energy,” Hunter said with an incredulous shake of his head. “Can you believe that they actually _choose_ to run from point A to point B? The only time I ever run is on the pitch, and that’s because I’m chasing down a ball.”

“Running’s okay,” Bobbi shrugged. “I wouldn’t use it as my main mode of transportation, but it can feel good to just cut loose every now and then.”

“Cut loose, huh?” Hunter grinned mischievously. “I don’t know, Bob, you don’t really strike me as the ‘cut loose’ type.”

“I can cut loose,” she objected. “Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

“Oh, so I’m getting the tame version of Barbara Morse, is that it?” he teased. A tinge of pink crept onto Bobbi’s cheeks.

“It’s possible,” she said stoutly. She knew he was just playing around, but she felt herself growing defensive. “I could have been a whole different person at my old school and you’d never know it.”

“Well I hope not,” said Hunter with a serious finality. “As far as I’ve seen, the person you are here is pretty good. I’d be sorry to learn that’s not the real you.” _The real you._ Bobbi gulped. All of the sudden it didn’t feel like either one of them was joking around anymore. She wondered what Hunter would say if he knew the truth. That the person she’d been the last few weeks _wasn’t_ the real her, as much as she wished it could be. That the life she’d been living since she got here was just a pretend one where she got to imagine how things might have been if she hadn’t been stuck with an absent mother and an angry father for all those years. That everything about who Hunter thought she was… was a complete and total lie.

“Oh shit,” Hunter said suddenly, grabbing Bobbi’s elbow. “We’d better go.” She fought the urge to yank her arm out of his grasp immediately, opting instead to ease it out as casually as she could force herself to do it. She didn’t want Hunter thinking she was a twitchy basket case, even if that was the truth.

“What’s going on?” she asked. Hunter beckoned frantically and was already several steps ahead of her. She began pumping herself forward on her crutches to catch up with him.

“Ward’s here,” he said tersely over his shoulder. “Trust me, all our lives will be easier if we can just get back to our seats without him spotting us.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a ‘run and hide’ type,” Bobbi panted behind him, the effort of keeping up with his quick strides on her crutches winding her.

“You’d be right about that,” Hunter told her. “Normally that’s not my go-to strategy. But this isn’t exactly my arena of choice for a big public confrontation. Too many people, too many kids. It’s better if we just let sleeping dogs lie for the moment.”

They reached their seats and were greeted by a trio of questioning and concerned faces.

“We were wondering when – hey, is everything okay?” Mack asked as he got a look at Hunter’s expression and Bobbi’s labored breathing.

“Spotted Ward,” Hunter filled them in. “We tried to get back over before he did the same to us.”

“He’s here?” Clint frowned. “Man, I thought we’d lucked out when he didn’t show during the first half.”

“He didn’t see you, then?” Natasha asked. She swung her gaze back and forth between the antsy Hunter and the bewildered Bobbi. Hunter shook his head.

“Not as far as I could tell. I’m sure he’ll see us eventually, but at least it won’t be out in the open in front of the entire parent section.”

“That sounds like a ‘worry about it later’ problem, then,” Natasha said slowly, trying to calm Hunter down somewhat. “He might not even know we’re here. And if he does, I doubt he’s going to come looking for you. There’s no way he’d start anything up here. Too many witnesses.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” muttered Hunter. He sank onto the bleachers and tried to make himself comfortable, but his eyes gave him away as they darted around looking out for Ward. Bobbi was surprised at how jittery he was acting. This wasn’t the Hunter she had come to expect. Mack too seemed to be holding himself stiffly, and even Clint was looking uneasy. Bobbi locked eyes with Natasha and tried to silently ask for an explanation.

“Should I be worried?” she finally asked. “Is there some kind of target on your backs that I should know about?”

Natasha let out a long sigh. “No, it’s really not as big a deal as it seems. Christian’s just a…” She tilted her head from side to side, choosing her words carefully. “…a thorn in our sides, let’s say. He takes pleasure in making our lives difficult, which is why we tend to avoid him. You don’t need to worry, though. We’ll be fine tonight.” Natasha spoke the last part with pointed emphasis, raising her eyebrows at the boys. All three shifted uncomfortably in their seats and mumbled varying statements of agreement.

“He’s probably pretty ticked off about his car, though,” Hunter murmured under his breath. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“What happened to his car?”

“Look, don’t get mad,” Clint began in a placating tone.

“That’s a good way to start.”

“We may have… had some fun with his tires this afternoon after practice,” Hunter admitted. “Nothing illegal,” he added quickly at the disapproving look on the girls’ faces, “we just let the air out. No real damage, no vandalism. Just an annoyance for Prince Charming.”

Natasha smacked Clint softly on the arm. “Are you serious? Why would you do something so stupid and juvenile? You know that’s just going to make him mad. And you,” she said, turning towards Mack. “Aren’t you supposed to be the voice of reason?”

“I just stood guard,” Mack said. He looked like a puppy that had gotten caught with a chewed-up slipper in its mouth. “I didn’t actually help.”

“I don’t think that’s much better.”

“Nat, look, we had to do something. He and his mates all deflated all of our balls before practice today, so we spent the first twenty minutes of our field time blowing them all back up,” Hunter tried to explain.

“You know how hard it is for us to get field time when everyone’s in season,” Clint said. “With the girls playing tonight, only one team could practice on the field this afternoon, and Coach Garrett had tried to get it for football, but Coach Kitson already had it booked for us. Ward and his buddies were mad, so they forced us to waste part of the limited time we had.”

“And we couldn’t just let that go,” finished Hunter, like the conclusion was obvious. Clint and Mack nodded seriously. “We figured if he liked playing with air pressure so much, we’d give him a chance to do some inflating of his own.” As much as Bobbi hated to admit it, she felt like the boys kind of had a point. Not that she was the type to go looking for ways to antagonize school bullies, but she understood the team need for defending their honor.

Once, a rival school back in Two Rivers – the Plymouth High Panthers – had spray painted lame insults all over the Two Rivers field, and Bobbi’s team had orchestrated a revenge plot that had involved dressing the Plymouth Panther statue all in purple and leaving behind instructional pamphlets from a kiddie soccer league as a not-so-subtle jab at their soccer skills. She hadn’t actually gone herself, since her dad would have flipped if he’d caught her sneaking out that night, but she’d helped the team pull their supplies together ahead of time. There was a certain amount of pride that you just couldn’t set aside when someone came for your team like that.

“Look, I’m not trying to nag here,” Natasha huffed. “I agree that Christian Ward needs to be taken down a peg or two, probably on a daily basis. I’m not even totally opposed to the idea of trading ultimately harmless barbs. But you have to be smarter about it. You have to be strategic. It’s a chess match, not a playground fight. You have to show him you have the upper hand in all regards and at all times.”

“I forgot, we’re in the presence of a former KGB operative,” Clint teased, with a roll of his eyes. “Not everyone is as cunning and calculated as you, Nat. Sometimes people don’t want to play chess. Sometimes people just want to go and deflate some tires on pretty-boy Ward’s new BMW, so they go and do just that.”

The corners of Natasha’s mouth twitched until she couldn’t keep her straight face any longer, and she joined the boys in laughter.

“All right, all right,” she surrendered. “Point taken. How red did his face get when he saw your handiwork?”

“Dunno,” Hunter shrugged. “We didn’t stick around for the fireworks. Better to leave the scene undetected, you know.”

“I bet it was a sight to behold,” Clint said dreamily. “I can just picture him hopping around like the enraged little toad that he is.”

“That might have been why it took him so long to get here,” reasoned Mack. “He probably had to wait for a tow truck. I can’t exactly picture him changing all of his own tires by himself.”

The remaining few minutes of halftime were passed quickly as they all sat there and laughed themselves silly at the mental image of Christian Ward doing manual labor. Bobbi didn’t know Ward, of course, so she had a harder time finding the picture as funny as the rest of them, but from what she could tell, he came from the rich kind of family that considered it more dignified to pay other people to do all of your dirty work for you rather than just do it yourself.

By the time the referee blew the whistle to begin the second half, everyone was in much better spirits than they had been, and Bobbi felt some of the tension drop out of her shoulders. Even though she knew no one was upset with her, it was still hard sometimes to not feel nervous around angry people.

* * *

The second half got off to just as much of a whirlwind start as the first half had, with both teams buckling down after their locker room pep talks and strategy adjustments. Kara Palamas was attacking the ball with a vicious ferocity, and Elena was tearing up and down the field at full speed, chasing down every loose ball she could track.

“Look at her go,” Bobbi said quietly to Mack. She knew she didn’t have to tell him who she was talking about – his eyes had barely left Elena since she’d stepped back out onto the field. “She’s so fast, and all that back and forth…”

“She’s like a yo-yo,” Mack grinned. “And she doesn’t know when to quit.”

Manitowoc’s aggressive style of play eventually started to pay off, and Bobbi could tell that the Mishicot team, while still scrapping as hard as they could, were wearing down. With only about five minutes left in the game, the Mishicot striker who’d been going tit-for-tat with Kara broke free from the main pack and began making a serious play for the goal. She was building up a head of steam, and she easily weaved around her own teammates and one of Manitowoc’s other midfielders.

Bobbi could feel a nervous energy spark up in the crowd, and a rumbling started to accumulate within the stands. The Mishicot striker had good eyes – she could see Alicia preparing to meet her from about 30 yards out – but not good enough. She changed course slightly to avoid a head-on confrontation with Alicia, but missed Elena who was charging up from behind her. In the blink of an eye, Elena had passed the Mishicot striker and was now in front of her, ready to make a clean challenge for the ball. The Mishicot striker didn’t know what had hit her. Elena expertly stole the ball away with a surgical flick of the foot, and was already a good ten feet away before the Mishicot striker realized that she didn’t have the ball anymore. An excited roar began to swell up from the crowd. Everyone could feel what Bobbi was feeling. Something big was about to break open here.

“She’s got an open field!” Hunter hollered, waving his arms around frantically. Clint and Natasha were jumping up and down and cheering her on, and Mack was bellowing for her to “go, yo-yo, go!” Bobbi hadn’t felt this alive in weeks.

The Mishicot defense was on their heels, pedaling to get back as fast as they could to try and get in between Elena and the goal. Kara Palamas was also charging down the field, the only other red jersey in the vicinity. Elena had them all precisely where she wanted them, it seemed. She didn’t indicate that she even saw Kara drawing up on the other side of the field, and the Mishicot defenders took the bait. They charged towards her like a crashing wave. She faked towards the center, evading one defender, then cut back to the right, drawing the others along with her. Just as one of the defenders took a powerful slide tackle towards here, Elena crossed the ball over their heads and straight towards the patiently waiting and very open Kara.

The defender who had tried to tackle Elena collided with her, knocking her feet out from under her and sending Elena sprawling on the ground. A cry of outrage rose up from the stands, but it was quickly overtaken by an ecstatic cheer as Kara beelined a clear shot towards the goal. For a second, Bobbi was sure the shot was going in, and so did everybody else it seemed. Then the ball pinged off of the crossbar at the top of the goal and ricocheted back out onto the field.

The next moment happened so fast, it was a wonder anyone could keep track of what was going on. For Bobbi, though, it felt like she was watching it all unfold in slow motion. The ball flew outwards towards the open field, and it seemed all but certain that a Mishicot player would scoop it up and clear it. That is, until Elena, scrappy and resilient Elena, who had managed to scramble back to her feet and plant herself in precisely the right spot, caught the ball in midair with the crown of her head and sent it right into the back of the net.

The crowd erupted in a deafening shout as every player in the Manitowoc colors began to race towards Elena, fists in the air. Elena was on the ground where she’d landed after throwing her entire body into the header shot, and she disappeared momentarily under a pile of celebrating bodies.

“They need to get off!” Mack cried. “She’s going to get hurt! And that ref completely blew the call on that slide tackle a minute ago. That defender could have taken out both of her ankles like that.”

“Stop worrying and enjoy the goal, you big softy!” Hunter called over the fevered cheers of the crowd. “She’ll be fine!”

The last few minutes passed like a dream. The goal had completely taken the wind out of the Mishicot sails, and although they tried to press forward for an attempt at an equalizer, the momentum of Elena’s goal fueled the rest of the Manitowoc team towards a total shut down of any final gasps of offense that Mishicot might have.

When the final whistle rang out signaling the end of the game, the stands exploded in a fresh wave of celebration, and Elena was flanked off the field by a group of her teammates, all of whom were thumping her on the back and pumping their fists in the air. Elena was beaming so widely it looked like her smile was going to split her face wide open, although it didn’t escape Bobbi’s notice that she was treating her left ankle a little tenderly. Bobbi also noticed that, while she was celebrating the victory, Kara Palamas didn’t seem quite as elated as the rest of the team.

“Oh my god, that was amazing,” Hunter gushed, his voice hoarse from all of the yelling he had been doing. “One of the best finishes we’ve ever seen.”

“I still can’t believe she was able to get back up and get over to the ball in time,” Natasha marveled, shaking her head.

The crackling, tinny sound of the marching band returned over the loudspeaker, striking up the opening notes of the fight song from the beginning of the game. It felt like the whole world was singing along to the plunky tune, and even though Bobbi still didn’t know the words, she joined her friends in shouting “Fight On!” at the end. She was smiling so hard you would have thought she had just scored the winning goal herself, and her whole body was filled with a floaty, fizzy feeling at the excitement of the game. She didn’t realize how much she had missed this. In that moment, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would do whatever it took to get back on the field. There was no way she could ever live with herself if she didn’t give it her everything to try.

“Bobbi, come on,” Clint called, drawing Bobbi’s consciousness back to the stands. He and the others were making their way down to the fence at the bottom of the bleachers that separated the fans from the field. Hurriedly, she followed and watched as her friends leaned over the fence to congratulate Elena, who had drifted over that way.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Hunter croaked, smiling wide. “Absolute beauty of a header.”

“So awesome,” Clint agreed.

“You were great,” Mack said with a bashful smile. “The steal was perfect, and you set them up just right.”

“Thanks, guys,” Elena said. She smiled wide and ducked her head a little, shyly. Her cheeks were flushed, although whether that was from all of the running, the excitement, or the praise was anyone’s guess.

“How come you didn’t take the shot yourself the first time?” Natasha asked.

“Kara was more open,” Elena shrugged. “And she’s the striker, after all.”

“Did you see the way her shot doinked right off the crossbar?” Clint laughed. “She was wide open and she totally missed.”

“Anyone can miss a shot,” Elena said graciously.

“It’s what you do with the ball afterwards that really matters,” Mack nodded, beaming down at Elena. She waved him off with a brush of her hand.

“What did you think, Bobbi?” she asked suddenly, turning to Bobbi, who had been lingering behind the rest of her friends. She wasn’t sure Elena knew her well enough to want to be congratulated by her after the game. “Mack told me you play. How did we look?”

“Oh, uh,” Bobbi’s face grew warm at the awkwardness of being put on the spot. Her fingers twitched slightly. “Good. Really good. I mean, it was a pretty chaotic game. A lot of aggressive pushes more so than drawn out plays, but you all stayed tough the whole way through. And that whole play was great – the steal, the fake, the pass.” She smiled then. “And the header, of course.”

“I’m glad you thought so,” Elena said earnestly. She took a step closer to Bobbi and the fence, a little away from the rest of the group. “I looked you up when Mack told me you played for your old school. Your stats are impressive. We could use somebody like you at midfield.” Bobbi blushed for real then.

“That’s nice of you to say,” she managed to splutter out. “We’ll see how my rehab goes, I guess.”

“Definitely,” Elena nodded. She shifted slightly, and Bobbi noticed again that she was favoring her ankle.

“Did something happen?” she asked quietly, gesturing to Elena’s leg with her crutch. “You’re limping a little.”

“It’s nothing,” said Elena with a shake of her head. “Just a little roughed up from that tackle. Took a cleat to the ankle, I think, and landed a little funny. It’s okay, I’ll bounce back. Just, don’t tell Mack, okay?” Bobbi squinched her mouth into a concerned pucker, but nodded.

“Don’t tell Mack what?” Mack asked, leaning back towards where Bobbi and Elena had been chatting. His pleasant smile melted into a worried look. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Elena said, forcing a happy expression back onto her face. “I’m just trying to keep you from finding out that Mr. Coulson told me what our next AV Club movie is going to be.”

“What? No way,” Mack grinned. “He never lets that slip. What is it?”

“Like I said, I can’t tell you,” Elena teased. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

“That’s so unfair,” Mack pouted. “Does Bobbi know? Bobbi, you’ve got to tell me.”

“I can’t, I don’t know what it is,” Bobbi said quickly, holding her hands up in surrender. She was impressed by how easily Elena had rattled off an alternate story to Mack, and she was grateful she could just play dumb and still go along with it.

She was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Fitz, who bounded up to Hunter with Skye and Jemma in tow. All three looked positively beside themselves with excitement.

“Did you see that finish?” Fitz said in awe. “Absolutely amazing!”

“It was quite good,” Jemma nodded.

“Of course we saw it,” Hunter said. He looked a little offended that Fitz would even suggest the possibility of him not witnessing the critical play of the game. “You don’t have to tell me how great it was. You can tell Elena yourself.” Hunter stuck a thumb back in Elena’s direction, helping the three younger kids to realize that Elena had been standing there the whole time. Immediately, they bustled over to her and Fitz and Skye both began talking a mile a minute, enthusing at length about the game. Elena was a little taken aback, but humbly accepted the praise and adoration from her newest fan club members.

“All right, all right, let the superstar breathe,” Hunter chided, planting a hand on Fitz’s shoulder and steering him back towards the rest of the group. “We’ve got to get going soon, and I’m sure Elena has better things to do than stand here and talk to us.”

“You guys are fine,” Elena smiled. “It was really nice of you all to come and watch. I should probably go and grab my stuff soon, though. I’m sure coach wants us all in the locker room.”

Everyone waved goodbye as Elena meandered back over to the bench to collect her things, and soon Natasha and Clint were saying goodbye as well.

“We’ll see you in school tomorrow,” Natasha said. “We’re glad you came, Bobbi. Hopefully you had a good enough time to want to do this again.”

Bobbi nodded. “Definitely.”

“Good.” Natasha looked satisfied. “I’m going to need you when it’s time to start going to boys’ games. It gets pretty lonely when all of these knuckleheads are out on the field.” She turned and left then, Clint tagging along beside her.

“Who was that?” Skye asked, once the pair of them were out of earshot.

“That’s our friend Natasha and our friend Clint,” Mack explained. “They’re seniors, but we all like to hang out together.” Skye gave Mack a long, careful look, like she was sizing him up. She and Jemma barely came up to his biceps, but Skye didn’t seem to be intimidated by the drastic height difference.

“Oh, sorry,” Mack said suddenly, realizing his lapse in manners. “I’m Mack. I’m friends with your cousin Bobbi. And with Hunter, too. Do you know Hunter? And you know Fitz, obviously. You’re Skye and Jemma, right?”

“Yeah,” Skye said slowly. She looked confused at the cousin comment, and Bobbi began praying furiously that she wouldn’t bring it up. “I’m Skye, and this is Jemma.”

“Bobbi’s told us a lot about you two,” Mack smiled. “It’s so cool that you all are living together. Mr. C is basically our favorite teacher, so I’m a little jealous you get to live with him, too.”

“We like Phil,” shrugged Skye. Either her confusion had passed, or she had chosen to let the remark slide in favor of talking about Phil. Bobbi felt like her knees had turned into Jell-O and re-solidified, all in the space of a few seconds. “He’s been really nice. May, too.”

“Where are Phil and May, by the way?” Bobbi asked, craning her neck for a sign of her foster parents. A safer direction to guide the conversation.

“We were sitting with them at the end of the game,” Jemma said. “Then someone Phil knew came up to talk to him once it was over.”

“They were talking about something really boring, like real estate or something—” Skye explained.

“The school levy that’s going on the local ballot in November,” clarified Jemma.

“And Fitz had to come find Hunter, so May said we could go with him, and to meet her and Phil by the gate,” Skye finished.

“Gotcha.” Bobbi nodded. She paused. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do next, or how one was supposed to end the hanging out portion of the evening. Luckily, Hunter did.

“Well, we need to get going,” he said with a clap of his hands. “Shall we?”

The group began the trek past the stands and out toward the open space where the concession stand was being closed up, beyond which lay the front gate. They had made it about halfway when a snide voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Damn, Hunter, I didn’t realize you were in the babysitting business. Then again, I guess you do have that kind of “British nanny” vibe about you. A regular Mary Poppins.” Hunter bristled at the voice, then wheeled around, fire flashing in his eyes. Mack turned around too, and soon Bobbi and the others followed suit.

Standing about six feet away from them was a tall, athletic-looking white boy with dark, carefully styled hair. His features had a kind of old-money handsomeness to them, but the sneering expression on his face twisted any trace of attractiveness out of them. Surely, this had to be Christian Ward.

“Fancy seeing you here, Ward,” Hunter said tersely. “I would have thought transportation was a bit of a hitch for you at the moment.” Malice flickered in Ward’s eyes, and Bobbi felt a sickening sensation curl up in the pit of her stomach. She had seen that look before. In an instant, however, Ward morphed his face into something haughty and aloof, revealing none of the fury he had worn a moment ago.

“I had it taken care of,” he smiled. There was something sinister in the look, like a viper was lying coiled just behind the mask. “Whatever idiot did that to my car didn’t do a very thorough job, so it didn’t take long to fix.”

“Well isn’t that a relief for you?” Hunter said dryly. “If we’re done with this pleasant little chitchat, I think we’ll be on our way. Always a pleasure, Ward.”

“You know,” Ward said quickly, taking a few threatening steps in closer. Bobbi felt her throat tighten, and her palms began to sweat. She was fighting the instinct to take off and run as far away from Christian Ward as she could. Her hands twitched. “It’s funny, because Creel and Rumlow could have sworn they saw the jackasses who messed with my car, and, you’ll never believe this, but they said that they looked just like the two of you and your punk friend Barton.”

“Maybe they ought to get their vision checked,” Mack said, his voice low and tense. Despite his size, Bobbi had never thought of Mack as dangerous, but hearing the severity in his tone as he spoke to Ward, Bobbi could see how Mack could be a real threat if he wanted to be.

“Or their heads,” Hunter added. “You know what they say about American football. Too many knocks to the brain, starts to confuse the poor blokes…”

“Look, I know it was you,” Ward hissed, taking yet another step closer to Hunter and jabbing a finger into his chest. Hunter slapped Ward’s hand away, not phased by Ward’s intimidation tactics. “And I’m going to make you weasels pay.” _Pay. Pay. Pay._

“Thought you said it was an easy fix,” said Hunter coolly.

“And that stunt your little girlfriend pulled?” Ward continued, turning towards Mack. “That goal was Kara’s. Nobody likes a goal-stealer.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have missed the open shot, then,” Bobbi blurted. She felt the color drain from her face. She had no idea why she had opened her mouth, but something in her had snapped. She didn’t like the way Ward was treating her friends. She had never been able to stand up to her dad, but she could surely stand up to Ward.

Ward noticed her for the first time, then, and he gave her a venomous look that made her skin crawl. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” he oozed, holding out a hand. “Christian Ward.”

Behind her, Bobbi heard one of the girls, maybe Skye, suck in a surprised breath. She forced herself not to turn around and check on her. She didn’t want to draw Ward’s attention to the younger kids. Instead, she steeled herself to reply. Ward was just another kid. An arrogant, mean-spirited kid who needed a reality check. He wasn’t her father. Her hands twitched again, and she squeezed her crutches.

“I wouldn’t exactly call this a pleasure,” she said flatly.

“Not with that attitude,” Ward scolded.

“Why don’t you just go and kick some puppies or something, Ward?” Hunter cut in. “We’re trying to leave here.”

“But we’re all just starting to get to know each other,” Ward said, a nasty smile parting his lips. “Who’re all your little friends?”

“None of your business,” Mack growled. He took a step, trying to shield Fitz, Skye, and Jemma from view. Unfortunately, Ward had already scanned their faces, and a look of realization crossed his when he spied Fitz.

“That scrawny one’s you cousin, isn’t he, Hunter?”

Hunter got right up in Ward’s face, and Mack quickly grabbed a fistful of the back of Hunter’s t-shirt to keep him from going any farther. “You leave him out of this.”

“Yeah, my brother Grant’s told me all about that little freak,” Ward continued, apparently relishing the way in which he was able to wind Hunter up. “He says hi, by the way.”

With a roar, Hunter lunged at Christian, and he probably would have gotten a good swing in at Christian’s face if Mack hadn’t still been restraining him. Bobbi heard someone, likely Jemma, let out a petrified squeak, and Mack raised his voice at Hunter, telling him to cool it. They all began to argue, Hunter threatening to come after Ward if he so much as looked at Fitz again, Mack trying to deescalate the situation, and Ward egging them both on.

Bobbi’s chest felt tight, and it felt like her vision was narrowing. Her hands were trembling, and she could hear the ringing shouts of the angry boys rattling around in her ears. Somehow, the sounds of Hunter and Mack and Ward starting mixing together with another voice, an older, angrier man. Her father. He was shouting, too. Bobbi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block all of the sounds out, but it wasn’t working.

“You wish you had the guts to swing at me!” Ward was yelling. “You can’t touch me.” _Touch me. Touch me. Don’t touch me._

“Why don’t you come over here and try that theory out like a man?” Hunter shouted.

“Hunter, leave it, seriously,” Mack pleaded. _Leave it. Make it stop._

“Yeah, Hunter, leave it,” mocked Ward. “You don’t want to know what I can do to you, or your flippy little cousin, or any of your pathetic friends.”

Hunter began to stop resisting Mack’s restraint, his anger draining out of him and turning into hardened steel. “You don’t run this school, Ward,” he glowered. “And I’m going to remind you of that every bloody day if I have to.”

“You just tell your friends to watch their backs,” Ward sneered as he began to saunter away. “Barton, the Russian spy… and your little goal-stealing girlfriend, too.” Mack looked like he wanted to knock Ward’s block off, but was stopped short by the sight of something approaching behind them. Bobbi swung her gaze over to follow Mack’s line of sight and saw the figures of May and Phil approaching. Relief flooded every fiber of Bobbi’s being, and she felt her muscles go limp. Everything was going to stop. Everything was going to be okay.

“Everything all right over here?” Phil asked seriously as he drew level with the heated group. Ward had done a complete 180, and turned an oily smile on him.

“All good, Mr. Coulson,” he said smoothly. “Just a minor disagreement. But it’s all settled now. I was just on my way out.”

Before Phil had a chance to say anything further, Christian slipped away. Bobbi watched as he ducked out of the gate and joined a group of older students who had been hanging around in the parking lot. She could see a few boys who she recognized as football players from their jackets, plus Kara Palamas with her duffle bag, and another girl in a floral-print dress with light brown skin, big black curls, and the biggest, shiniest eyes Bobbi had ever seen. The girl was staring at them intently, and it was starting to unnerve Bobbi. She and Bobbi locked eyes for a moment, but it was Bobbi who had to break her gaze away. Something about the girl was almost as unsettling as the brawl that had nearly broken out in front of her moments ago.

“What’s going on, guys?” Phil asked again, looking seriously from Bobbi to Mack to Hunter. “What was all that shouting about?”

“It’s nothing,” Hunter mumbled, kicking at the ground. “Just messing around. We should go.” He put a hand on Fitz’s shoulder and began to guide Fitz toward the gate.

“Hunter, seriously, if there’s something going on that I should know about, now is a great time to tell me,” Phil pressed. His voice was kind, but he looked more serious than Bobbi had ever seen him be. “Is Christian giving you guys a hard time? Because you guys know we have a zero-tolerance policy on bullying.”

“It’s fine, really, Mr. Coulson. We need to get home.” Hunter said curtly. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Bob. Come on, Fitz, let’s go.” He left in earnest, then, without another word, pulling Fitz behind him and with Mack trailing a few steps behind.

“Are you three all right?” May asked quietly, inspecting Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma’s faces. All three girls nodded, although Bobbi felt sure that she wasn’t the only one who didn’t meet May’s eyes.

“Does anybody feel like telling us what just happened?” Phil asked again. No one said anything. Bobbi opened her mouth to try and explain, but she couldn’t make her voice work. Her throat still felt like it had a golf ball wedged in it.

“Let’s just get to the car,” suggested May, placing a gentle hand on Phil’s arm. “It’s too hot and crowded here, anyway.”

“Right, the car,” Phil nodded slowly, like he was processing the idea in real time. “You’re right, we should get home, too.”

And with that, they made their way out of the gate and towards the car without another word.


	31. Opening Up

Skye was having trouble sleeping again. After all of the excitement of the soccer game and the shouting match that Bobbi’s friends had gotten into with Ward’s brother – his _brother_ , of all people – everyone was a little on edge and more than a little exhausted by the time they all got home. Bobbi had totally clammed up after the fight, her eyes getting that glazed look on them that Skye had come to recognize as a sign of a total shutdown.

Jemma, too, had been quiet, although she didn’t seem as shellshocked as Bobbi did. She had tapped the whole car ride home, and she hadn’t let go of Skye’s hand since the older boys had started arguing with Christian, but she hadn’t had any trouble telling May that her homework was finished when she had been asked, or pointing out the constellations to Phil that she spotted through their bedroom window as she got ready for bed.

Skye hadn’t really been too shaken by the fight. She had seen plenty of scuffles over the years, and participated in her fair share as well. And if Christian Ward was anything like his brother, which Skye suspected was highly likely, then he probably deserved to get pummeled by Hunter. _No_ , Skye frowned as she lay there in bed. _No one really deserves to get hit_ , she corrected herself. She was trying to be better about that, ever since Phil had talked to her and Jemma and Bobbi about how punishments should work, and especially ever since he and May had been so fair and understanding with her own punishment.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel like she would probably have done the same thing if she was in Hunter’s shoes. She practically had with her own Ward on more than one occasion, although she’d had people like Trip to help keep her head on straight. She couldn't deny that it would feel really, really good to wipe the smug look off the Wards' faces with a solid slug or two. Hunter may be kind of a weirdo, in that mystifying, ‘teenage boy who laughs at his own jokes’ kind of way that Skye had yet to wrap her head around, but wanting to protect your loved ones by any means necessary was something she had no trouble comprehending. 

So, it wasn’t really the fight that was keeping her awake, as far as she could tell. Skye rolled over grouchily, trying to get comfortable, but nothing she tried seemed to work. Her mind was still churning away, and her hands and feet were feeling tingly, like she needed to get up and run around the house six or seven times just to get the sensation out. She flipped over again, growing more and more frustrated.

“Skye?” Jemma’s gentle voice delicately broke the silence that had been pressing down on Skye’s ears. It was like the quick and tidy way Phil broke eggs when they were cooking together – just a small, satisfying little cracking sound that opened up a whole egg of possibilities. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Skye murmured. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

Skye propped herself up on one elbow and reached over to flick on the lamp by her bed. The yellow glow that it gave off filled the room with a cozy light that only took Skye a few seconds to adjust to. Jemma was curled in her bed, facing Skye, and looking thoroughly unsleepy.

“I don’t know why, I just can’t turn my brain off,” Skye admitted, sitting up fully and drawing her knees to her chest.

“A lot has happened today,” Jemma offered. “You may still be processing everything. Even computers need time to recalibrate their data from time to time.”

“What about you?” asked Skye. “Are you still processing, too?” Jemma was quiet for a moment.

“Maybe a little. This morning feels like a long time ago. There were lots of feelings today.”

Skye nodded pensively. There had been a lot of feelings that day. All of the emotion of worrying about being caught, arguing with Jemma, feeling guilty when she was caught and afraid of her punishment, then relief and excitement when May and Phil hadn’t punished her too much and had offered to help find her parents. Then there was all the excitement of going to the game, and seeing Fitz, and eating popcorn, and watching Bobbi’s friend score the winning goal. That had been more fun than Skye had had in a long time, and then it all came crashing back down when Christian Ward had come in and ruined things. He was so like Grant in so many ways, and Skye couldn’t decide if she was afraid of him or just fed-up with jerks like him.

“Do you want to say what you’re processing?” Jemma asked. She had noticed how wrapped up in her own thoughts Skye had become. Skye shrugged and picked at a loose thread on her quilt. It seemed like a lot to go into, but she knew that talking with Jemma always made her feel better. She felt kind of bad about unloading everything onto her all at once, though, especially when Jemma still had some processing of her own to do, it seemed.

“You can if you want to,” Jemma assured her. When Skye didn’t immediately take her up on the offer, Jemma stretched out an arm and picked up the book that was laying next to her bed. Skye squinted at the cover and saw that it was _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_. One of Jemma’s favorites. “I’m going to read until I get tired, but I can listen, too, if you change your mind,” Jemma told her with a small smile.

Skye nodded, and decided that she could work on something too until she was ready for sleep. She hung upside down off of her bed and dug out her squirreled away computer parts that she had stashed the night she had switched rooms. She hadn’t made much progress in the last few weeks, but she was in the middle of straightening out all of the crumpled wires and connectors on a piece of half-smashed motherboard. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Jemma turning a page every so often, and Skye scowling at the cracked plastic and bent metal while she twisted and tinkered away with her tools.

After a while, Skye found herself beginning to speak. Somehow it was easier to talk when her hands were occupied with the motherboard and her attention was fixed on the work. She began to trace through the different pieces of her day, trying to explain what had been good and bad, and how each part had made her feel. Jemma was an excellent listener, commenting in all the right places and reassuring Skye whenever she got too tangled up in her own words. It helped for it to feel more like a conversation than just Skye dumping her every thought and feeling into Jemma’s lap like a big, slimy trout that no one knew what to do with.

“…and then all that stuff happened with Ward. The big Ward, Christian,” Skye continued, having reached the part of her day that was still bothering her for some reason.

“He was frightful,” Jemma said. “And he was so much like his brother.”

“I wonder what they’re like together, at home?” pondered Skye. “Do you think they’re nice to each other, because they’re from the same family so they’re on the same rung of the social ladder, or do you think they’re just as nasty to each other as they are to us?”

“I… I really don’t know,” Jemma faltered. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” Skye shrugged. “They’re huge jerks either way.”

“And poor Fitz,” frowned Jemma. “I don’t understand why they’re both so horrible to him.”

Skye nodded sympathetically. “I get why Hunter wanted to pound him, though, after all that stuff he said about Fitz, and the way he treated Bobbi. It wasn’t just being mean, it was like he was making threats.” Jemma shuddered and closed her book.

“Do you think we should have told?” she asked finally. “I mean, when Phil asked what happened, do you think we should have said?”

“I don’t know,” said Skye. Sensing the weight of their conversation had shifted, Skye set her computer pieces to the side as well. “I don’t know if it’s for us to tell. Hunter didn’t want to. I’m not sure about Bobbi. I couldn’t tell if she didn’t want to, or if she just couldn’t.”

“Do you think she’s okay?” Jemma’s eyes were swimming with concern, and Skye felt her heart swell at the sight. Jemma was always so watchful of other people’s feelings it made Skye feel like she didn’t deserve her sometimes.

“She did seem kind of freaked out,” Skye admitted. “Maybe she doesn’t like fighting. Maybe it makes her think of…” Skye stopped herself. It wasn’t her place to guess.

“She was really nice to me this morning,” Jemma said softly after another minute or so. “I was so worried about you getting into trouble that I…” She trailed off, lost for the word to describe the state she had nearly worked herself into. “But she tried to make me feel better. She let me list nucleotides to take my mind off of it.”

“That _is_ really nice,” Skye teased gently. “She must like you a lot if she let you list nuclear-tides. All those letters are super boring, if you ask me.” Jemma smiled at the playful ribbing, and didn’t even correct Skye’s pronunciation. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, though, and Skye could tell she was still worried about Bobbi.

“She might still be awake,” Sky suggested. “We could go check on her, if you want.” Jemma smiled for real, then, and practically popped off of her bed.

“I think we should,” Jemma said, nodding firmly. Skye bit back a smile at Jemma’s eagerness to go and look in on Bobbi. It was like she had made up her mind long before, and all she had been waiting for was for Skye to make the suggestion.

They tiptoed out of their room and across the hall, then stood poised outside of Bobbi’s shut door. Neither one made an immediate move to knock. As much as Skye knew Jemma wanted to check on Bobbi, she knew she didn’t want to bother her, either. Still, as far as Skye was concerned, there was only one way to find out if Bobbi was up to see them or not, so she rapped softly on the door before Jemma could lose her nerve.

“Bobbi,” Skye hissed through the door. “It’s us. Are you awake?” She pressed her ear to the door and strained to listen for sounds of movement. Jemma leaned in close behind her, her breath tickling the back of Skye’s neck. Skye thought she heard the sound of someone shifting in bed, and then the unmistakable thump of crutches on the floor. She took a step back from the door quickly, pulling Jemma along with her, just as the knob turned and half of Bobbi’s face peered out from behind the door.

“Skye? Jemma? What are you doing up? It’s late,” Bobbi said, her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Skye nudged Jemma forward to speak. It had been her idea, and Skye didn’t want to take credit for Jemma’s abundant kindness.

“I…” Jemma faltered. Skye could see her shoulders tensing, and didn’t have to look down to know Jemma was tapping against her leg. She gave Jemma an almost imperceptible nod, trying to encourage her. Jemma cleared her throat. “We just wanted to check on you. To see if… you were all right after…” Jemma flittered her free hand out into space to signal the kerfuffle that had transpired. Bobbi didn’t move at first, and didn’t say anything either for what felt like a centuries-long pause to Skye. Then, she clicked herself backwards into her room and pulled the door the rest of the way open, silently inviting Jemma and Skye to come in. Skye grinned.

As they stepped into the room, Skye looked around quickly and took stock of what had changed since she’d moved out. Most of the furniture was the same, save for the new bed that had been delivered a few days after Bobbi’s arrival, and Bobbi hadn’t changed much in the way of décor. The main difference was the presence of Bobbi’s clothes hanging out of the dresser and in the closet, and school things piled up on her desk. The wooden sticks – her batons, she’d called them – were laying on top of the bed, which hadn’t yet been turned down. That at least made Skye feel better, knowing that they hadn’t woken Bobbi up.

“You can sit,” Bobbi said awkwardly, trying to clear off the desk and scoop up her batons at the same time and succeeding only in setting herself off-balance. She took a second to right herself, then settled for grabbing the batons and taking the seat at the desk, leaving the now clear bed for Skye and Jemma.

“Sorry,” she said flatly, ducking her head a little. “I was in the middle of a couple things. I didn’t expect—”

“No, it’s okay,” Skye promised. “We’re the ones who came by unannounced.”

“We can go, if you want to be alone,” Jemma said hurriedly, rising from the bed as quickly as she had sat down on it.

“No, no, you can stay,” Bobbi told them. “I just meant that I would have cleaned up a little if I knew you were coming.”

“We don’t mind,” smiled Skye. “My room is usually way messier. Jemma makes me keep ours clean, which does make it easier to find stuff, but—” Skye was cut short by the sound of Jemma clearing her throat. “Right, focus.” Bobbi smiled a little at their exchange, which Skye took as a good sign.

“It was nice of you two to come and check on me,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“We were worried,” said Jemma softly. “You seemed upset after the game.” Skye watched as the corners of Bobbi’s mouth pulled tight in a kind of grimace. The older girl began to pump her hands back and forth, spinning the batons she still held in them around expertly. It was a little mesmerizing to watch the acumen with which Bobbi’s fingers were able to wriggle and wrap around the wood as it spun in her hand.

“The whole thing with that guy Ward just kind of… I didn’t react well,” she said finally. Her eyes were fixed on her batons, and Skye wondered if Bobbi found it easier to talk while her hands were busy, too.

“What are you talking about?” Skye asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” In Skye’s experience, the phrase “reacted badly” was usually reserved for some of her more aggressive outbursts, like the time she had accidentally knocked out a boy’s front teeth at school when he had grabbed her too hard during tag. In Skye’s defense, his teeth had been loose anyway, and he had been cheating the whole time at the game, trying to grab her and slow her down so she would get tagged instead of him, but the teacher hadn’t seen it that way.

“I guess I just didn’t handle it the way I thought I would. I didn’t think it would bother me so much to see him and Hunter get into it like that.”

“But it did,” Jemma supplied. Bobbi nodded.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen fights before,” she explained. “Something about the way they were yelling just… I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Skye said seriously. She thought back to the way she had cowered in front of Phil their first morning here, even though he hadn’t done anything but make sure she hadn’t hurt herself too badly on the broken glass, or how Jemma still got nervous around the broom. “You can’t help the way you react to stuff, especially if it reminds you of bad things.”

“It’s a naturally encoded, biological response,” Jemma nodded. Her expression clouded over momentarily. “That doesn’t make it any less unpleasant, though.”

“No, I know,” Bobbi sighed. “You’re right. It’s just weird, I guess. I didn’t use to be that way about stuff like that, is all.” Skye cocked her head to one side and waited for Bobbi to elaborate. When she didn’t, Jemma took the opportunity for a follow-up question.

“What do you mean?”

It took Bobbi a while to respond. Her face was puckered in thought, and her eyes looked stormy. Still, she didn’t seem upset, and she didn’t tell Skye and Jemma to leave, so they waited patiently for her answer.

“It’s hard to explain,” she began slowly. “It’s like… I feel like there are two different versions of myself. It used to be that there was the version of me that I was at school, and the version of me that I was at home. At school I was…” she trailed off, searching for the right words. “People didn’t mess with me at school. I wasn’t mean or anything, I just kept to myself and didn’t put up with people trying to push me around, so people stopped trying after a while. I was tough on the soccer field, I got good grades, I hung out with my teammates. I was… normal, I guess. As normal as I could be. At home was different, since it was just me and my... dad.” She stumbled a little over the word ‘dad,’ and sounded like her throat was growing thick. Skye didn’t say anything, though. She wasn’t sure she had ever heard Bobbi talk this much all at once, and she didn’t want to interrupt.

“Things weren’t all that good with him,” Bobbi continued. “I know you know he was the one who messed me up before I came here. It was like that a lot. I was small. I tried to be quiet and stay out of his way, and if I couldn’t do that, then I’d try not make him any madder than he already was. I was a different person at home, and nobody at school saw that person, and my dad didn’t see the person I was at school.”

Skye’s chest ached as she listened to Bobbi recount what her life had been like. She had lived with some crummy people before, even people who had hurt her, although never enough to send her to a hospital. The biggest difference, however, was that Skye could blame her experiences on rotten foster parents who didn’t care about her because she wasn’t theirs. Bobbi couldn’t say that. The person who hurt her was supposed to be one of the people who loved you no matter what.

“And now, even though I’m not still living with him, I still feel like there are two versions of me,” Bobbi admitted. “They’re just not what I was expecting. I thought when I got away from him, I’d be the brave kid from school all the time, but I’m not. I’m never her. Instead, I’m the scared one. The one who gets jumpy about a fight, or who freaks out over what shirt to wear or the fact that she can’t text Hunter her address because she doesn’t have a phone.”

Bobbi was getting worked up, now, spinning her batons harder and speaking so quickly it was like her words tripped over themselves as they poured out of her. “And she doesn’t want to explain to Hunter _why_ she doesn’t have a phone, or _why_ she lives at her teacher’s house, because then she would have to explain about how utterly screwed up she is and how she’s been lying about her life since the day they met, and then he and Mack and everyone else will know that she’s the sad little weak and scared girl and not the strong put-together one she’s been pretending to be this whole time.”

Skye and Jemma sat there in a stunned silence for a minute, taking in everything Bobbi had just said. To Skye’s surprise, tears started leaking from the corners of Bobbi’s eyes, although she brushed them away brusquely almost as soon as they fell.

“You’re not weak,” Skye said quietly, after a beat. “Being afraid doesn’t make you weak, and not being able to stand up to your dad doesn’t make you weak either. He’s a grownup. You’re not supposed to stand up to him. You shouldn’t have to. He should be standing up _for_ you, not being the thing you have to stand up against.” Bobbi let out a shuddery laugh that sounded more like she was trying to keep herself from crying again than an expression of amusement.

“Skye’s right,” Jemma murmured. “I think you’re very brave, and strong. You’re being here means that you are. And you’re nice, too. You made me feel better this morning when I was worried about Skye. A lot of foster siblings wouldn’t do that.”

“That feels like such a long time ago,” Bobbi said, a little dazed. After a few seconds, she perked her head up and twisted around to pick up something off of her desk. “That reminds me, Jemma, I have something for you.”

“Really?” Jemma asked. She looked intrigued and excited at the prospect of the surprise gift. It wasn’t often that people just handed out presents to her or Skye.

“My friend Natasha gave it to me today, because she thought you might like it,” Bobbi explained as she held out a twisty string of beads. “It’s a DNA bracelet. It’s got two strings to be the sides of the double-helix, and the beads all have As, Ts, Gs, and Cs on them. I just finished putting it together right before you came in here.” Jemma’s face was stunned, but the expression was quickly replaced with utter joy as she examined the bracelet.

“It’s perfect,” she breathed. “Thank you.” Bobbi gestured for her to hold out her wrist, then neatly tied the strings around Jemma’s arm in an expert knot.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like a DNA one, Skye, but I can make you something different tomorrow, if you want,” Bobbi said bashfully. “I can see if there’s something to do with computers, maybe.” Skye beamed and nodded eagerly. She couldn’t believe how nice Bobbi was to want to make her one, too, and to remember that Skye liked computers as much as Jemma liked DNA.

“Hey Bobbi,” Skye said suddenly, a thought starting to form in her brain. “You said Hunter and them didn’t know about the other you, right? Is that why your friend Mack called us your cousins tonight?” Bobbi blushed.

“Yes,” she mumbled. “I didn’t know how to explain everything to them when we first met, so I let them believe that I got hurt in a car accident and that I’m staying with Phil and May until I get better. I also might have lied and said that Phil was my uncle. I feel really bad about it, but I don’t know how to fix it now.”

“You should know, Fitz knows about us being foster kids, and he knows that you’re our foster sister,” Skye told her.

“We didn’t know it was a secret,” Jemma said worriedly. “And we didn’t know he was related to your friends, otherwise we wouldn’t have said anything.”

“He might not say anything about it to Hunter,” Skye suggested. “He didn’t seem to notice when Mack said it tonight.”

“But just in case, it might be easier to tell the truth sooner rather than later,” Jemma finished. That hadn’t exactly been where Skye was going with it, but she should have figured that Jemma would be in favor of being honest.

“If it helps,” Skye added with a shrug, “I don’t usually tell people I meet at new schools that I’m a foster kid, but when we told Fitz, he took it really well. Maybe Hunter and your other friends will, too.” Skye felt a little odd, giving so much counsel to a kid who was two years older than her, and in high school, but she felt like maybe it was okay for her to fill the role of advice-giver temporarily, as the one with the most experience with the topic in question. 

“Maybe, but you didn’t lie to Fitz for weeks before you told him the truth,” Bobbi pointed out. “I never should have done it, but I’m in over my head now. They’re all going to hate me when they find out I’m a liar.”

“You don’t know that,” Jemma soothed. “Good friends wouldn’t hate you.”

“That’s true,” Skye nodded. “Jemma gets mad at me when I do bad stuff sometimes, but she never hates me, and she doesn’t stay mad for long, especially once I apologize. Friends understand.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bobbi said quietly. “Thanks. For everything tonight. I didn’t know how much I needed someone to talk to, I guess.”

“Hey, that’s what foster sisters-slash-fake cousins are for,” Skye grinned. Jemma nodded shyly beside her, and the corners of Bobbi’s mouth tugged up into a small smile of her own.

When they returned to their room and climbed back in bed, Jemma seemed much more content than she had earlier, and Skye was pleased to find that she was suddenly very tired. Whatever had been buzzing around in her head and keeping her up had been resolved, it seemed, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds once her head hit the pillow for sleep to overtake her.


	32. The Tutor

It had been almost a week and a half since the less than stellar parent-teacher conferences, and Skye was beginning to hope that May and Phil had forgotten about setting her up with a tutor. She knew the chances were slim when she brought home yet another angry red D- on her weekly science quiz, and they were firmly squashed once and for all when May and Phil brought it up at the breakfast table one morning before school.

“So Skye,” Phil began gingerly, after he had placed their empty cereal bowls in the sink. “I’ve been talking with my friend Ms. Price, who runs the tutoring program at the high school, and she thinks today would be a good day for you to start coming in to work with someone.”

Skye felt a slippery eel of dismay work its way down into the pit of her stomach and start writhing around. She had known better than to think she’d be getting out of this, but had foolishly let intoxicating hope cloud her judgment. She took a short breath to try and settle her stomach and nodded curtly. She didn’t trust her voice to work properly.

“We know this isn’t easy for you, Skye,” May said gently. She reached over and placed a comforting hand on Skye’s fist, which was clenched on the tabletop. Skye felt some of the tension melt out of her taut arm at May’s touch. “Phil and I are very proud of you for doing this.”

“Very proud,” Phil agreed. “Ms. Price promised us that we can take it as fast or as slow as you want, and she already has a couple of her students in mind who might be a good fit for you,” he continued. “I consider Ms. Price to be an excellent judge of character, so I’m sure that anyone she has picked out will be great.”

“Plus, you won’t have to be alone,” May added. “Phil’s going to pick you and Jemma up from school and take you both back to the high school when it’s time. Phil will be in his classroom working, and Bobbi will be there, too.”

“We haven’t talked to Jemma about it yet,” Phil said, “but we thought she could have the choice to either stay in my classroom with me or join you in the library, if that was something you might be interested in. Ms. Price told me that it wouldn’t be a problem if Jemma wanted to sit with you, but we wanted to give both of you the option.”

Skye looked up then and studied Phil’s face to see if he was being genuine with her. She had no reason to believe he wasn’t, but the idea of Jemma coming to her tutoring session sounded too good to be true. Maybe it was kind of babyish on her part, to have to take a buddy to tutoring, but Skye had to admit that having Jemma by her side made her feel calmer than any other assurance she had received so far.

“Do you think she’d want to?” she asked quietly. It was an odd thing to ask of Jemma, and Skye didn’t want to get her hopes up too much. As much as she felt like she probably knew the answer to that question, something inside of her needed to hear someone else say it.

“I absolutely think she would,” Phil smiled. “I think Jemma is a very good friend who would be happy to do whatever it took to help you out. I also think you already know that.” Skye blushed.

“Why don’t you ask her in the car on the way to school?” May suggested. “That way she has plenty of time to think it over and decide before this afternoon.” She gave Skye’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

* * *

May and Phil had been right, of course. Jemma didn’t hesitate at all to assure Skye that she would be with her every step of the way that afternoon, and Skye was a little embarrassed by how relieved that made her feel. She spent the car ride with her head resting on Jemma’s shoulder and her fingers running back and forth the new keychain she had dangling from her backpack.

Bobbi hadn’t been able to figure out a way to make a bracelet for Skye like she had for Jemma, so instead she had pried off the letters S-K-Y-E from a junky old computer keyboard that Mack found in the scrap bin in his shop class, and woven them together with rubber wire casings into a keychain that Skye now proudly dangled from her backpack. She loved having something with her name on it, and the fact that Bobbi had made it from repurposed computer parts, just like Skye’s own secret project, made it all the better. She also loved how it felt when she rubbed her fingers across the keys, gliding through the smooth plastic in the divot of each letter and bumping with the jump from key to key. S-K-Y-E. E-Y-K-S. S-K-Y-E. It reminded her of what was hers.

Phil went over the plan with them twice before they arrived at school, making sure that Skye and Jemma understood that they were supposed to meet him out front right after school instead of waiting in the library like usual. She wasn’t sure why he was so worried they would forget, since Jemma never forgot anything, and Skye was unlikely to be able to think about anything else all day, but she figured he might be a little nervous about the whole thing too, so she tried to cut him some slack.

Despite all of his worrying, Skye and Jemma followed the plan to the letter, and were dutifully waiting outside of the middle school when he arrived to pick them up. Fitz had been ecstatic when they had told him that they didn’t have to go to the library after school, since it meant that they had a few extra minutes together as they all waited for their respective rides to arrive, and he took full advantage of the time by continuing their lunchtime discussion on time travel. Fitz had gotten the idea from some movie he and Hunter had been watching on TV, and was eager to discuss whether or not a person with the power to time travel should change the past or not.

“What would even be the point of being able to go to the past if you couldn’t fix the bad things and make the future better?” Skye pointed out.

“You might not make it better, though,” Fitz argued. “No one knows how far a single moment reaches. Maybe you fix one bad thing in the past, but then it creates a whole new bunch of bad things that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t tampered with the time stream.”

“Then you can just go and fix that, too,” Skye said, as if it was obvious. “You can _travel through time_. You have an infinite number of do-overs.”

“If that’s how time travel even works,” added Jemma. “Maybe you can’t actually change anything. Maybe everything happens the way it’s supposed to, no matter what. Or maybe if you do too many do overs, it messes up the fabric of the universe and the threads of time start to unravel right in front of you.”

“In Harry Potter you can just use a Time Turner to go back and fix things and it doesn’t mess everything up,” Skye shrugged. “They saved Sirius and Buckbeak that way.”

“But that was a closed loop,” Fitz reminded her. “They had to make sure that they retraced their steps and didn’t change anything too drastic. Plus, it was all stuff that had already happened in the past because in the future they went back, so it just constantly circled back on itself. They didn’t actually change anything, since the loop made it so the stuff they did already happened. If your time travel worked that way, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but the one on TV wasn’t like that. They started to change the past, and it made it so the main character had never been born, so he started to disappear. That’s why they had to make sure to undo the changes they made before he could go back to his present day. And even after they put things right, it still created a whole new future that was different from how it was supposed to be.”

“Like a parallel universe?” Jemma asked.

Fitz nodded. “It wasn’t a bad future that they accidentally made, but it was different. Just imagine what would have happened if they had accidentally changed the past in even the slightest way in some other direction. The new future might be terrible.”

“Which is why you use your powers of time travel to go back and undo whatever it is that you messed up in the past the first time around,” Skye said proudly. It seemed to her like Fitz had just proved her point for her, much to her immense pleasure.

Fitz looked like he was about to fire off another retort about how irresponsible it was to fiddle with time like that, but he was cut off by the arrival of Phil, who smiled and waved as he pulled up to the curb.

“Don’t think this means you won the debate,” Fitz called as Skye and Jemma clambered into the backseat of Phil’s car. “I want it noted that my rebuttal was cut short.”

“It’s been noted,” Jemma assured him. Fitz looked satisfied and waved farewell, watching them drive away.

“Were you in the middle of a discussion?” Phil asked. Ever since he had learned about their discussions with Fitz, Phil had been eager to hear their topics and arguments. He was usually impressed with the things they talked about, which always made Skye feel smart.

Jemma nodded. “Ethics of time travel,” she explained. Phil made a thoughtful sound from the front seat.

“That’s a big one,” he said. “And it probably depends a lot on the kind of time travel you’re doing. Is it the kind that can change the future?”

“That was part of the discussion,” piped Jemma excitedly. “Some of our answers were different if it was closed loop travel instead of parallel universe travel.”

“I thought you should just be able to go and change whatever you want to make the best future you can,” Skye said. “Even if changing the past is bad, if you end up making something good happen in the end, doesn’t that make it okay?”

Phil tilted his head from side to side, as if he was weighing both sides of the argument. “That’s one way of looking at it for sure,” he conceded. “I know I believe that the people with the power to create change have a responsibility to wield that power for the betterment of the world. But you don’t want to get too Machiavellian with it, either.”

Skye cocked her head to one side, confused, and Phil chuckled.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he assured her. “Just remember that sometimes people will say that ‘the end justifies the means’ because they want to convince themselves that they can do the wrong thing in order to get the results they want.”

“You mean like how people think that just because something turned out okay in the end, that outweighs all the bad stuff they did to get there?” Skye asked.

“Exactly,” nodded Phil. “Sometimes we have to make hard choices, especially when we’re trying to do what’s right, and sometimes it can be really difficult. I’m not denying that. But I think it’s important to try to do the right thing as often as you can in as many ways as you can. Usually if something is truly the right thing to do, the steps you have to take to get there will be the right ones, too.”

Skye mulled that one over as they drove the rest of the way to the high school. She was pretty sure she understood what Phil was trying to tell her, but she wasn’t sure if she thought he was right or not. Of course she wanted to be good and do the right thing, but sometimes it felt like her options were limited. Sometimes it just wasn’t possible to make a good choice in certain situations, at least in her experience. It had probably been the wrong thing to do to lash out at Michaela Dodson for tormenting her, or to steal food from the Bryants’ kitchen, or any of the other bad things she had done, but if it meant that she didn’t have to get harassed and picked on, or that she could have something to eat, or that she wouldn’t have to stay in a home where she got mistreated, then didn’t that make it okay in the end? Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but bad choices like those gave her a chance to balance the scales a little.

If she could actually go back in time and change the past, she probably wouldn’t change most of those bad things she did. Maybe she would change some things, and make it so she didn’t have to be put in those bad situations in the first place, but if it meant the difference between her getting in trouble and being sent back or her having to live forever in a house that felt like a prison, Skye knew in the deep, gnarled part of her heart that she would do the wrong thing almost every time. That went double for where Jemma was concerned. Skye would make a thousand wrong choices if it meant that Jemma could be safe and happy, no matter what.

* * *

When they finally pulled up outside of the high school, the first thing that struck Skye was how much it resembled the middle school that they had just come from. The high school was bigger, and there was no blacktop or basketball hoops, but the bricks and the flagpole and the big, stone steps up to the front doors were all the same.

“We’re heading to the library, which is on the second floor,” Phil said as they got out of the car. He led the way into the building, through a couple of hallways, and up a flight of stairs. Skye was glad for the guide, since she was sure she would have gotten lost almost immediately if she had needed to navigate the building on her own. She had no idea how Bobbi got around every day, especially when she had the added challenge of crowded hallways to contend with.

Skye didn’t realize how shallow her breathing had gotten as they drew nearer and nearer to the library until Jemma slipped her hand into Skye’s and gave it a long squeeze, forcing Skye to take a deep breath. It was their old trick – squeeze and breathe in, release and breathe out.

When they arrived at the library, Phil paused outside of the door and gave Skye a steady, warm look.

“The first thing we’ll do when we go in is talk with Ms. Price,” he explained. “We’ll make sure she’s caught up to speed about you, Skye, and that she knows what you need. Then she’ll probably help you find a high school student to pair up with, and the two of you can start working. Does that all sound okay?” Skye nodded, tightening her grip on Jemma’s hand.

“And Jemma can stay, right?” she asked. She didn’t care anymore if it made her look like a baby, to be clinging to Jemma like this. Standing here, right outside the room, made her stomach twist, and the only thing that kept her from flying off into the atmosphere with nerves was the anchor that was her Jemma.

“Yes, Jemma can stay,” Phil smiled. “I already checked with Ms. Price before we started. It’ll be up to you two and your tutor how that will look, but I’m guessing you won’t have much to do besides sit with them and offer moral support, Jemma. That’s something I know you’re very good at.” He paused again, giving the two girls one final glance. “Ready?”

Skye gave him a go-ahead nod, and the three of them stepped into the library. Much like the whole building, the high school library was much bigger than the one in the middle school. It had walls lined with books, and rows of shelves towards the back. The front part of the room had clusters of round tables, where some high school students were already sitting with middle school kids, plus a section with beanbag chairs and squashy armchairs that looked great for reading. Skye’s ears picked up the unmistakable sounds of clicking and typing, and figured there must be some computers in use somewhere out of sight, which sparked an involuntary flicker of happiness somewhere inside of her ribcage.

Phil guided them towards one of the round tables near a corner of the room, where a middle-aged woman with a pin-straight, dark brown bob was sitting, sorting through a few stacks of papers. She looked up when they approached and smiled at the sight of Phil.

“Phil, hi,” she said, standing and shaking his hand.

“Hi Rosalind,” he greeted her. He smiled warmly and returned the handshake before turning to Skye and Jemma. “Girls, this is my friend Ms. Price. She’s a teacher here, too, and she’s in charge of the tutoring program. She’s one of the best teachers I know.” Ms. Price laughed at that, and looked a little embarrassed, but in that way where you could still tell she appreciated the compliment, Skye decided. “Ros, these are my foster daughters, Skye and Jemma.” He gestured to each of them as he introduced them, and Ms. Price smiled and nodded at them both.

“It’s very nice to meet the both of you,” she said. She was a little stiff, Skye thought, but she seemed nice enough. She smiled more than Brother Jonathan ever had, and Phil had said they were friends. Skye couldn’t believe that Phil would be friends with someone mean or dangerous.

“Phil’s told me a little bit about you two,” Ms. Price continued. “Mostly about what you like to study in school and how long you’ve been staying with him. Jemma, I understand that you’ll be joining Skye today?” Jemma let out a small squeak that thankfully only Skye could hear, but nodded stoutly. Skye noticed that the muscles in her jaw seemed tighter than usual, and she figured that she wasn’t the only one who was feeling antsy about what they had both just walked into. 

“Very good,” nodded Ms. Price. “Skye, I have a few tutors who are available who I think might be good matches. Let’s meet them, shall we?” Everything about Ms. Price was crisp and business-like, and while it didn’t really bother Skye – she was a teacher, after all – the promptness with which the woman had moved from pleasantries to work caught Skye a little off guard. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this.

“Skye, I’ll be in my classroom catching up on some work,” Phil said. His tone of voice made him sound like a parent leaving behind their clingy toddler with a babysitter for the first time, but Skye was too on edge to be offended that she would be the toddler in that scenario. “You and Jemma come find me and Bobbi when you’re done. My room is down the hall, room 202. If you have trouble finding it, you can ask Ms. Price or one of the students in the library, okay?” When Skye didn’t immediately respond, Phil shot her a smile that, while sympathetic, seemed to be trying to inject Skye with a boost of confidence. “You’ll do great, kiddo. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Skye tightened the corners of her mouth into a return smile that she felt sure looked more like a grimace. She knew Phil had to leave. No one else had a grown up with them in the library. No one else needed one, and she shouldn’t need one, either. Besides, she had Jemma, and Jemma was always more than enough.

Phil turned and left then with one final, reassuring wave. Ms. Price waved farewell back, then wasted no time in steering Skye and Jemma over towards an empty table. As she made sure the girls were getting settled, she beckoned towards a small cluster of high schoolers who had been sitting nearby. One of them, a girl with curly black hair wearing a flowery dress, had been watching them intently since they walked into the library, and she looked as though she was about to get up and join them when another girl, one with red hair, beat her to it.

“Girls, I’d like you to meet Natasha,” said Ms. Price, as the red-headed girl approached. As she drew closer to them, Skye realized that she recognized the girl. She was the one from the soccer game, one of Bobbi’s friends. Skye felt her arms go limp like spaghetti noodles with relief. She may not actually know Natasha, but if she was good enough to be friends with Bobbi, then Skye figured there was a good chance she would be safe with her. “Natasha is a strong student here at Manitowoc High, and she’s one of my best tutors. I think the two of you will be a good match, so let’s try it out for today and see how it goes. If you decide you’d like to meet another tutor tomorrow, Skye, that’s also fine. No one’s feelings will be hurt – it’s a standard practice to try different tutors out until you find the right fit.”

Turning to Natasha and handing her a sheet of paper, Ms. Price spoke again. “Here’s some information from Skye’s school that can give you a baseline of what to start working on. I’ll be over here if you need anything.” And with that, she turned neatly and returned to her own table, leaving Skye somewhat dumbstruck. Being seated at the table with one of Bobbi’s friends had caused some of her fear to ebb, but being suddenly left alone with a girl who was still technically a stranger left Skye feeling shy and apprehensive. She wasn’t sure who was supposed to talk first, and the tension of uncertainty was making her shoulders crawl. She hunched them slightly and stared down at the tabletop. 58 minutes to go. Maybe Jemma could count how many seconds they had left.

“I’m Natasha,” the older girl finally said. “And you must be Skye and Jemma, right? I think I’ve seen you before. You’re staying with Mr. Coulson and my friend Bobbi?”

Skye said nothing, but nodded stiffly. She knew she was being rude, but something about the formality of the setting and the prospect of actually being about to start tutoring for real had her all clammed up.

“Would it be okay if I told you a little bit about myself before we got started?” Natasha asked, setting the paper Ms. Price had handed her to the side. Skye looked up, confused. She glanced over to Jemma, who was looking as surprised as she felt. They both nodded, and Natasha smiled. “Great. So, Skye, I’m guessing that you’re probably not too thrilled to be here. I wasn’t either when I had to start coming to tutoring. When I first moved here, I didn’t really speak English, so I didn’t do very well in school. They made me start coming to tutoring, and at first, I hated it. I mean, I really hated it.” She smiled sheepishly at the two of them, and Skye felt like she was being let in on a joke. “A couple times, I actually tried to run away from the room where they made us go. That was before we had it in the library. The teacher had to come track me down and basically drag me back.”

“Not literally,” she said quickly, noticing the looks of concern that appearing on Skye and Jemma’s faces. “But I didn’t make it easy on poor old Mr. Banks. The more I kept coming, though, and the more I worked on the things that were hard for me, the easier they started to become. My English started getting better, and soon I wasn’t having as much trouble reading and doing my homework. Now, you can barely tell that I spoke Russian for the first 10 years of my life, can you?”

Her eyes twinkled with a kind of mischievous pride, and Skye had to admit that there wasn’t a trace of an accent in Natasha’s speech. Not that an accent meant you didn’t understand the language, of course. Jemma and Fitz both spoke with accents, and Skye had gone to school with a girl at Our Lady of Mercy who had an accent because she had grown up speaking Farsi, and who always got perfect scores on her essays and spelling tests. Skye had spoken English her whole life and it had taken her until she was 8 years old to even be able to read books meant for a first grader.

“I guess what I’m trying to get at,” Natasha continued, “is that, I know coming to tutoring can seem like a bad thing, but I promise you that it doesn’t have to be.” She looked hopefully over at Skye, but all Skye could offer was a halfhearted shrug.

“Do you have any questions for me before we get started?” Natasha asked.

“How come you only spoke Russian at first? Did you grow up in Russia, or did your parents just speak Russian to you when you were growing up?” Skye blurted out. She realized as the words were leaving her mouth that Natasha had probably meant questions about tutoring, but Skye was intrigued by the story of the 10-year-old Russian speaker who ran away from school and she couldn’t help herself.

“Skye, that’s private,” Jemma chided gently. Skye felt her cheeks grow warm, but Natasha didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s okay. I don’t talk a lot about growing up, but you two seem trustworthy,” she smiled. “I grew up in Russia,” Natasha began slowly, like she was figuring out how best to explain herself. “Or well, a place that was sometimes its own country and sometimes part of Russia. It basically doesn’t exist anymore. When I was little, there was a lot of fighting in my country, because they were trying to become independent from Russia, but the Russian government wasn’t interested in letting them go. I was sent to the United States when I was 8, along with two of my cousins, who were 16. We were in the foster care system for a few years until my cousins turned 18, and now I live with them. That’s when we moved here and when I started learning English for real.”

“You were a foster kid?” Skye asked, a little awestruck. It wasn’t often she met another foster kid outside of her foster homes, and very rarely were they as nice and cool as Natasha was shaping up to be. “We’re foster kids, too.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Natasha chuckled. “One of the many things I think we may have in common.”

“Does Bobbi know?” Skye wanted to know. “About you being in foster care, I mean?”

“I don’t think so.” Natasha furrowed her brow in curiosity. “It hasn’t really come up yet. Why do you ask?”

“Because Bobbi is a—” Skye cut herself off instantly, realizing her mistake. She had been so caught up in the excitement of her discovery that she had spoken without thinking. Jemma’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, and Skye wanted to hide under the table for being so careless with Bobbi’s secret.

“Because Bobbi has foster sisters now,” Jemma finished nervously.

“Right,” Skye nodded, picking up on Jemma’s clever adaptation of the truth. “Us. We’re her foster sisters. And she’s never had foster sisters before. And it might make her feel better to know she has a friend who knows what… we’re… going through.”

“Gotcha,” Natasha said, dubious. She didn’t seem upset, more just confused by Skye and Jemma’s sudden odd behavior. Skye was hoping against hope that she hadn’t messed anything up big time for Bobbi. “Well, if it comes up, I guess I’ll let her know.”

“Maybe you two should start your tutoring,” Jemma suggested gingerly. “There’s only 53 minutes left until we have to go find Phil.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Natasha nodded. She pulled the sheet of paper back over and gave it a quick glance. “So, Skye, this paper tells me stuff that your school thinks we should be working on, but I’m a little more curious about what _you_ think we should start with.”

“Oh.” Skye felt her ears grow warm. She hadn’t been expecting that. When Brother Jonathan came to do tutoring, they always just worked on whatever it was that he wanted to cover that day – usually obscure medieval poetry or complicated math proofs that made Skye go crossed-eyed just thinking about them. She had assumed that this would be the same and that the school would have dictated exactly what she was supposed to be covering.

“Well, I guess we should do math and science. Those are the two classes I’m actually flunking right now. My reading’s not very good, but I have a C- in language arts, not an F.” Skye couldn’t make herself look at Natasha while she recounted her pitiful school performance. Under the table, Jemma slipped her hand into Skye’s and squeezed, reminding Skye to take a deep breath.

“Okay, that sounds good to me,” Natasha said breezily. She didn’t sound the least bit perturbed by Skye’s struggles. “You can pick which one of those we work on today.” When Skye only offered a self-conscious shrug, Natasha tried a different tactic. “Can I tell you what I think might be a good idea?”

She waited until Skye had given her a nod of agreement before making her suggestion. “I think maybe we should start with reading, if that’s okay with you. I know for me, everything else felt a lot easier once I wasn’t having as much trouble reading and understanding my homework and tests.”

Skye cocked her head to one side, considering Natasha’s point. It made sense, she supposed. Part of why she was having so much trouble with her science quizzes stemmed from the fact that the questions on them were incredibly confusing, which made it hard for her to figure out what the question was even asking, much less what the right answer was. Math was another beast, but if Skye was being honest with herself, she wasn’t all that interested in working on her math anyway, so picking reading seemed like a safer choice.

“Okay,” she agreed. “So, do I have to do one of those worksheets or something? Like one of those ones that’s like a standardized test?”

“Do you _want_ to do one of those worksheets?” Natasha asked incredulously, one eyebrow arched.

“Not really.”

“I don’t blame you,” Natasha smiled. “You probably get enough of those at school. We might have to do a couple of them eventually, but how about for now we just focus on regular reading. Do you have a book you’re working on for school?”

Skye twisted in her chair so that she could root around in her backpack for the new book Miss Hill had assigned them a few days ago, since they had finished _The Giver_ last week. She was still waiting to see what grade she got on the assessment Miss Hill had given them when they’d finished. That’s what Miss Hill called tests – assessments. They weren’t like the tests and quizzes in Skye’s other classes. Miss Hill’s assessments were just a few questions with a lot of blank space to write out your answers, and Miss Hill had promised them that there weren’t any right or wrong answers. For _The_ Giver, Miss Hill had asked them only two questions – 1. Why do you think the elders created a society where only one person keeps the memories? And 2. What do you think happened to Jonas and Gabriel? Even with the promise of “no wrong answers,” Skye hadn’t been confident when she’d turned hers in at the end of the class period. As far as she could remember, the book itself hadn’t exactly explained either one, so she felt like she was making a complete and total guess.

After shoving some crumpled up papers and a dog-eared folder or two out of the way, Skye finally emerged with a slightly battered, brightly colored book with a drawing of a star and a stick-person in a skirt on the front.

“ _Stargirl_ ,” Natasha nodded, a knowing look spreading across her face. “I think I remember this one.”

“We just started it, so we’re still kind of at the beginning,” Skye informed her. “We’re supposed to read chapter 2 for homework tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Natasha smiled. “Would you be okay reading chapter 2 out loud with me?” After receiving a nod from Skye, Natasha turned to Jemma. “Jemma, you can stay and read with us if you want, but you’d mostly be listening, if that’s okay. I think it’d be better if Skye was the one who did most of the reading. If you’d rather read by yourself, you can sit in one of those chairs close by, that way we can all still see each other.”

Jemma looked to Skye to see how she was feeling about the whole thing before answering. Skye paused for a moment and considered. She knew Jemma wouldn’t mind sitting and listening to her slog through the chapter, but she also knew that Jemma could read on her own much faster than Skye could, and she might appreciate being able to go at her own pace for once.

“You can read alone, if you want,” Skye said, after a minute. Jemma looked a little surprised, but didn’t object. “I think I’ll be okay as long as I know you’re still there.” Skye was a little surprised herself at the truth in what she’d just said. Despite how nervous she had been going into the afternoon, Natasha’s kindness and patience had done wonders to ease Skye’s trepidation, and she was a little curious to see how she would manage on her own.

Jemma gave her hand one final squeeze before moving over to one of the comfy armchairs across the library. She made sure to choose one that was still in Skye’s sightline, and she smiled and waved before sitting down with her own book. Skye flashed her a thumbs-up back.

“You two are really close, aren’t you?” Natasha observed. She had a warm expression on her face, like she was smelling chocolate chip cookies coming out of the oven or feeling a sunbeam on her face. Skye nodded.

“She’s my best friend. For a long time, she was the only person I had.”

“But not anymore?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

Skye shrugged. “I have another friend at school. Fitz. And I have May and Phil, and Bobbi, too. I don’t know if I’m going to get to keep them all forever, but it’s nice to have them while I can.”

Natasha didn’t have anything to say to that, opting instead to nod thoughtfully. After a minute, she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the book. “I guess we should get started, shouldn’t we?”

For the next 45 minutes, Natasha had Skye read from _Stargirl_ , out loud and by herself. Skye had been a little embarrassed at first, since she usually only read out loud at home with Jemma and Phil, but Natasha was a good listener and didn’t mind when Skye messed up words or went really slowly. For the most part, Skye found the book to be a little easier to get through than _The Giver_ , but she figured most of that was due more to the fact that the new book took place in the real world instead of some made-up world from the future, so she already knew the rules of how everything worked.

Every time Skye would get to a word she stumbled over or didn’t recognize, Natasha would have her pause and write out the word in a notebook that Natasha had grabbed from Ms. Price’s supply table. Once the word was written out, they would sound it out together until Skye could read it without any trouble. If she knew what it meant, Natasha would have her explain it to her as if Skye was the teacher and Natasha was the student, which Skye thought was kind of fun. If Skye didn’t know what the word meant, Natasha would explain it, and then Skye would write out a sentence in the notebook that used the word. It was hard work, but Natasha made sure it didn’t feel too tedious, helping Skye come up with the goofiest sentences they could think of to practice the words.

By the time the hour was nearly up, Skye had filled her notebook page with words like “administration,” “absurdity,” “marquee,” “hoax,” and “nonconformity,” and she was proud to discover that when she looked back over the page, she could recognize and define each of the words that had given her so much trouble.

“So, real quick, the last thing we should do now that we’ve finished the chapter is go back and say what the main things that happened were,” Natasha prompted her.

“People in school think that Stargirl is pretending to be weird, or that the principal asked her to come to the school to make people have more school spirit. Stargirl wears weird clothes and sings happy birthday to people, and people are confused. Leo thinks she’s real, though,” Skye recited. Natasha nodded, and Skye beamed, tickled pink that she had managed to recap the chapter accurately.

“What do you think?” Natasha asked. “Do you think Stargirl’s real, or is she just pretending?”

Skye thought hard for a minute. “I guess maybe she’s real. People act in ways that seem weird all the time, but it’s just because not everybody is the same. I think she’s just being herself, but some of the kids in her class are making fun of her for it.” A twinge of sadness plucked in Skye’s chest. She knew plenty about people being made fun of for nothing but being themselves.

“I think you’re right,” Natasha smiled. “And I think Stargirl sounds like a pretty cool person to be friends with, don’t you? She’d always remember your birthday, for one thing.”

“That’s true,” Skye laughed. Unless she didn’t know your birthday, because _you_ didn’t know your birthday because somebody dumped you on an orphanage porch before you could even lift your own head up. Skye wondered how Stargirl would react to somebody like that. Somebody like her.

“Well, thanks for working with me today, Skye,” Natasha said, starting to gather up her things. “That paper said you’re coming to tutoring three days a week, right? I’m here on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, if you want to keep working with me. If you want to try somebody new, that’s totally okay, too. It took me about seven tutors before I found one who didn’t make me want to pull my hair out.” She said the last part like it was a joke, but Skye could tell by her eyes that she was serious.

“I’ll ask Phil what days I’m supposed to come,” she said shyly. She hoped it would be the same days as Natasha. It didn’t matter if the other tutors were good, too, Skye liked how nice and funny Natasha was, and she had already decided she didn’t want to work with anyone else.

“Cool,” Natasha grinned. “Let’s go grab your sister, and I’ll show you where Mr. Coulson’s room is.” 

They started over to where Jemma was still sitting, but Natasha soon stopped in her tracks, causing Skye to nearly collide with her. Following Natasha’s gaze, Skye looked over to Jemma and realized that she wasn’t alone. Standing in front of Jemma, chatting causally, was the girl in the flowery dress that Skye had noticed watching them earlier. She seemed innocent enough, like she was making small talk with the younger girl, but Skye’s eyes latched onto Jemma and knew deep in the pit of her stomach that something was askew. Jemma’s shoulders were stiff, hunched forward ever so slightly in a defensive pose that Skye knew was usually reserved for strangers and discomfort. She was looking at the ground, rather than at the girl who was talking to her, and her right hand – her tapping hand – was nowhere to be seen, which Skye figured meant it was tucked into Jemma’s pocket or at her side, tapping away.

Skye felt herself bristle, and she was filled with an overwhelming need to go over and intervene, even if the girl talking to Jemma was a high schooler. Skye had stood up to plenty of older kids before, and she wasn’t about to back down now. To her surprise, Natasha was crossing over to where Jemma sat just as quickly as she was, fists clenched, and Skye noticed a muscle in Natasha’s jaw jump. Apparently, Skye wasn’t the only one with a bad feeling about the situation.

“Everything okay over here?” Natasha asked starchily. Her eyes were locked on the older girl. As Skye drew closer, she could see the girl was wearing an expression of cool disinterest. Skye made a split-second decision to focus her attention on Jemma and let Natasha handle the older girl. She pulled up alongside Jemma and studied her friend’s face. Jemma’s eyes were distant and flighty, but as they found Skye, some of the life began to return. Skye plunked herself down on the arm of the chair, putting herself in between Jemma and the older girl while also positioning herself close enough to Jemma that their arms could press against each other. She knew better than to try and take Jemma’s hand at the moment.

“I was just introducing myself to one of our new students,” the girl drawled. Her voice was lilting and sugary, like syrup running down the side of a plate, but something about it made the hairs on the back Skye’s neck stand on end. “Natasha, there’s no need to get yourself so worked up over every little thing.”

“She’s with me,” Natasha said flatly. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” the girl pouted. It was the simpering kind of fake pouting Skye had seen plenty of kids try to pull at St. Agnes – the kind that was supposed to put the other person on the defensive and make you feel guilty. “We’re supposed to talk to the kids, Natasha. Or did you forget that? Is that why you sent her over here by herself for the past hour?”

“She’s not here for tutoring, Raina,” Natasha explained slowly. She repeated what she had said a moment ago, more firmly this time. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

The older girl, Raina, Skye supposed, turned her luminous eyes on Skye then, and Skye felt a tingle shoot down her spine. “I saw you both come in with Mr. Coulson earlier. He said you were his foster daughters, is that right?”

Every fiber of Skye’s being was screaming at her to stay silent and not say a word to the strange girl in front of her, but something stubborn was bubbling up inside her. She didn’t like the way Raina was treating their conversation like a game of cat and mouse. She didn’t want Raina to think that she was afraid of her.

“Phil’s our foster dad.” Skye jutted her chin out as she spoke and tried to look as tough as she could while balanced on the arm of a chair. She didn’t think she was particularly successful, especially given how Raina’s mouth twitched into a smirk when Skye spoke.

“How nice for you,” she said. “My name’s Raina, I’m one of the tutors here. What’s yours?”

“Skye.” As soon as her name passed from her lips, Skye knew she had made a mistake. She couldn’t help it. Something about Raina made her lose any semblance of a filter she had once had.

“And you’re from the middle school? How old are you, 12? 13?”

“That’s enough, Raina. This isn’t an interview for Dateline. Leave the kid alone.” Natasha’s eyes were crackling with electricity. Skye would have been intimidated if she hadn’t been sure that Natasha was on her side.

“You really ought to work on keeping that temper of yours in check, Red,” Raina chided. “It’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

“Skye, Jemma, let’s go find Mr. Coulson, okay?” said Natasha abruptly. It took Skye a second for her legs to receive the message from her brain, but she wasted no time in hopping up and following Natasha obediently once she had processed what was being said. She didn’t fully understand what was going on, but she could tell that Natasha was on edge and that something about Raina was bad news.

* * *

When the three of them made out into the empty hallway, Skye seized the opportunity to ask Natasha the questions that had been buzzing around in her brain.

“Who was that girl? What did she want?”

“Her name’s Raina. She’s in my year at school here. I don’t know what she wanted, but if I know Raina, it probably wasn’t good.”

“What do you mean?” Jemma asked.

“Why don’t you like each other?” overlapped Skye.

“I just mean…” Natasha huffed a little, searching for words. “We don’t have a good history. We disagree about a lot of things, and she hangs out with people who are trouble.”

They arrived outside of Phil’s classroom door, and Natasha paused, looking carefully at Skye and Jemma. “I don’t want to give you guys the wrong idea. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Raina can be a little… unusual sometimes, so she was probably just being weird. I don’t think she’s going to bother you or anything like that. Just be careful, okay? She has a way of getting people to do what she wants.”

Skye didn’t feel like any of that really cleared up the situation, but Natasha seemed flustered, and Skye didn’t want to upset her further. She wanted Natasha to still want to be her tutor next time, and she felt like pressing too much about Raina might cause Natasha to decide that Skye wasn’t worth the trouble.

Natasha pushed open the door to Phil’s room and shepherded Skye and Jemma inside. Phil was seated behind his desk, marking some homework assignments, and Bobbi was reclined at one of the desks with her own homework spread out in front of her. Both looked up as the girls entered the room.

“Skye, Jemma, how’d it go?” Phil asked. He looked happy to see them, but there was a hint of apprehension in the question. When he noticed Natasha coming in behind them, his happy expression went up a few watts. “Natasha! How did I not realize you’re one of Ms. Price’s tutors?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Coulson,” Natasha smiled back. All of the unease she had demonstrated out in the hall had vanished, and Skye marveled at how quickly she had been able to mask her emotions. “Considering you wrote my recommendation letter when I got the job.”

“Well, I’m glad to see it worked,” Phil chuckled sheepishly. “Forgive a feeble old man for his forgetful ways?”

Skye rolled her eyes and grinned at Phil’s antics. He could be so melodramatic sometimes.

“Skye did really great today, Mr. Coulson,” Natasha informed him. Skye felt her face go scarlet at the compliment, but she couldn’t help but stand up a little straighter. It was nice to be praised for her schoolwork rather than criticized, even if it was just afterschool tutoring.

“I’m not surprised in the least,” Phil said warmly. “I’ve got three incredibly smart kids living with me now, you know.” At least Skye wasn’t alone in crimson-faced embarrassment now, as Jemma and Bobbi both became bashful at Phil’s words.

“I can definitely confirm that,” Natasha said with a wink. “I’ll see you all later, then.” She gave everyone a wave and disappeared back into the hall.

“So it went well, then?” Phil asked, once they had the room to themselves again. “Was Natasha your tutor?”

“Yeah,” Skye nodded. “It was good, I guess. We read my homework chapter and I worked on the words I didn’t know.” She turned to Bobbi, her face shining. “Bobbi, your friend is really cool. Way cooler than Fitz’s cousin.”

Bobbi choked on a stifled laugh at that comment. “I’ll have to let her know you said that. She’ll definitely appreciate it.”

“Is she the one who gave you the things to make my bracelet?” Jemma asked. Bobbi nodded. “That was very nice of her.”

“She’s a nice person,” Bobbi agreed. “She was one of the first people to talk to me on my first day here.”

“Phil, what days do I have to come here for tutoring?” Skye asked.

“I think we can pick whatever days work best, as long as it’s three times a week,” Phil told her. “Why do you ask?”

“Natasha tutors on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, and she said that she’d be my tutor every time if I came on those days.”

“I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t make that work,” Phil smiled. “I’m really glad to hear you found someone who you like to work with, Skye. I know that wasn’t easy for you.” Phil began to pack up his things and gestured for Bobbi to do the same.

“I was just lucky Natasha came to our table first,” Skye mused, mostly to herself. “That other girl Raina almost was my tutor instead.”

“I didn’t like her,” murmured Jemma. “Natasha didn’t either.”

“Well, lucky for us, Natasha’s going to be my tutor from now on, and we won’t have to talk to her ever again.”


	33. Doing Some Digging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor swearing, brief mention of violence

It was a slow day down at the station, so May didn’t feel guilty about checking her phone when it buzzed in her pocket, signaling the arrival of a text. Most of her friends knew that the best way to reach her during the work day was via phone call, her mother (thankfully) didn’t know how to text, and she knew that Phil was in class at the moment, so it was a surprise to see that the message coming in was from Victoria Hand.

“ _Free to call?”_ the text asked. “ _Not urgent, just wanted to check in.”_

May chuckled to herself as she typed out a quick reply. It was so like Victoria to check beforehand if she was available to talk on the phone. She liked Vic a lot, both as a friend and as a colleague, but sometimes she forgot how formal the woman could be. It was only a matter of seconds after May had sent her reply before the phone in her hand started to vibrate with Victoria’s incoming call.

“Hey, Vic,” May greeted her. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Likewise,” came the slightly garbled voice of Victoria Hand. For a workplace where communication was so vital, the police station had remarkably bad cell reception. “I’m glad I caught you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all,” May assured her. “Quiet day today. Not that I’m complaining, of course. It’s given me a chance to catch up on some paperwork.”

“Everyone’s favorite part of the job,” Victoria joked. “Well, really, I just wanted to call and check in with you regarding the girls, and give you a little bit of an update on Bobbi’s situation, if that’s all right.”

“I don’t have Phil with me,” warned May. “It’s the middle of the school day for him, you know.”

“I do, I’m sorry. You know normally I would make sure to loop you both in on a call like this, but I’ve been more than a little overrun lately, and this was the best time I had for the call. I can try and fit something in after hours, if you’d prefer to have Phil with you…”

“No, don’t cut into your evening for our sake. I’ll take good notes and fill him in. Maybe he can set up a time to talk with you later on, just so you can hear from both of us.”

“That would be great, thanks May.” Victoria sounded somewhat more relieved than May would have expected, and she wondered just how thinly the social worker was being stretched at the moment. She knew from the times that they had crossed paths professionally that Victoria dedicated herself completely to her work, and that there were few respites from the continuous barrage of cases and children who needed her help. It was crucial work, of course, but May didn’t envy her in the slightest.

“So, tell me, how have things been going? I know the last time we talked everyone was still getting settled in, and Bobbi had just started school.”

“Things are going well, I think,” May began. She didn’t want to oversell by any means, but she felt good about the progress their fledgling family was making. “We’re starting to get a routine down. My work schedule means that Phil gets to spend more time with the girls in the afternoon, of course, but we always eat dinner as a family, and I’m trying to make sure I get some one on one time with them when I can. I’ve been taking Bobbi to her physical therapist appointments, so that’s given us some time to get to know each other. She actually asked me for help picking out what she should wear to go spend time with her friends one night, if you can believe it,” May laughed.

Victoria joined in the laughter from the other end of the line. “I’m not sure I can. To the best of my memory, your wardrobe consists pretty exclusively of dark suits and black workout clothes.”

“Black goes with everything,” protested May. “And I have to maintain a certain level of professionalism.”

“Can’t have people thinking you’re the kind of lively presence who wears navy or grey, now can we?” Victoria teased.

“We can’t all be cool enough to dye our hair, Vic,” May ribbed back. She could practically picture Victoria smirking at that comment.

“On the subject of Bobbi, I’ve got a few things to update you on,” Victoria said, steering the conversation back to business. “I know when I first asked you and Phil to foster her I told you it would be a temporary situation, and I’m really sorry to have to do this to you both, but I’m having a hard time finding another placement for her at the moment. Most of my regular group homes are full right now, and, to be frank, I’m running short of suitable foster families in the right area. Her father’s been charged with child abuse and neglect, among a few other things, but he made bail about a week ago and is back in his home until his trial, which won’t be for another month or so. I can’t in good conscience sent Bobbi to a foster home in Two Rivers, it’s just too close to him for any of us to feel comfortable with the situation.”

“Of course,” May said quickly. “Vic, I read those files you gave me. I know what that monster is capable of, and there’s no way I’d ever want Bobbi to be anywhere near him ever again.”

“Which is why I have to ask if you and Phil would be willing to continue fostering Bobbi, at least for a little while longer, until I can find her a more long-term placement.”

“Victoria, hear me when I say, Bobbi is welcome to stay in our home for as long as she needs to,” said May, deadly serious. “I’ll confirm that with Phil, of course, but I’m absolutely certain he’d say the same thing. That girl needs a safe place to land. She needs a home. And we’re happy to be the ones to provide it.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that,” breathed Victoria with a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver, May.”

“There’s no need to go that far,” May muttered, her neck growing warm. She hated it when people acted like being a decent human being was worthy of hero-worship, even if it was just Vic trying to be nice. It was a thoughtful thing to say, but the idea of being considered a life saver for not kicking an innocent teenager out onto the street made May deeply uncomfortable.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Victoria surrendered with a chuckle. “I forgot you don’t take compliments.” May rolled her eyes, and even though Victoria couldn’t see her, she felt sure that she could picture the dry expression May was making.

“How’s she doing?” Victoria asked seriously after a moment. “Bobbi, I mean? Skye and Jemma have at least done this before, so they know what to expect. I’m sure there’s been a lot of adjusting for Bobbi, though.”

“Honestly, Vic, she’s resilient as hell,” May said, a little proudly. “We’ve had some bumps here and there, and I don’t think she’s used to being around so many people all the time, but she’s making friends at school, doing well on her assignments, and she’s getting along with the Skye and Jemma, as far as I can tell. She made them bracelets one day, and now Jemma won’t take hers off.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I think it’s possible she’s putting on a brave face about certain things. Every so often something will set her off, but she tries to shut it down and pretend like nothing’s bothering her. I wish she felt comfortable enough to let us in, but I understand why she wouldn’t yet.”

“It’s different for each child, but it’s not uncommon for it to take a while for them to open up,” Victoria reassured her. “It sounds like you and Phil are doing all the right things. Just keep supporting her and showing her that you’re trustworthy. She’ll come around when she’s ready. What about Skye and Jemma? Are things still going well with them?”

“I think they are.” May pursed her lips in thought. “Jemma hasn’t had any more major episodes since the one we told you about at the mall. She’s so bright, and when she has a mind to, she can wax poetic and tell you the most amazing things. She’s got this little friend at school who she apparently talks to almost all day. She’s still a little shy around us, but we’ve gotten her to open up a little bit here and there. Phil’s great with her, of course. She told him a little about her parents, which I think was a big step forward for the two of them.”

“Honestly, May, the fact that she’s talking to you two at all speaks volumes,” Victoria said solemnly. “It took me nearly six months of being her social worker before she said a word to me, and I know for a fact she’s been in some homes where she’s gone basically nonverbal. Some of those homes were exceptionally bad fits, I’ll admit, although I don’t take responsibility for all of them. The one she had right before I took over her casefile was… horrific, from what I’ve heard.”

May shuddered, wild imaginings of the kinds of terrible things Jemma might have endured springing up in her mind. “She’s so gentle. I can’t understand how anyone could mistreat her.”

“Can’t you?” Victoria laughed harshly. “May, I know for a fact you’ve witnessed some of the worst that humanity has to offer in your line of work. There’s evil all over the place out there. We just have to make sure we shield our kids from it as much as we can.”

“You’re right.”

“It’s not all bad,” Victoria added, trying to instill some positivity back into their conversation. “There’s people like you and Phil out there, too. People who give kids the chances they need.”

“Phil’s one of the good ones,” May agreed. She could sense the unspoken “and so are you” that Victoria wanted to add, but mercifully abstained from saying aloud. She didn’t think she could take another mushy compliment.

“You haven’t mentioned Skye yet. Is everything okay with her?” Victoria sounded more hesitant this time, as if she already knew that Skye had been the most complex puzzle for May and Phil to decipher so far.

“Skye’s good. Great, really. She’s so…” May fished around for the right words to describe their spunky, hardheaded, and yet deeply loving and sensitive middle child. “She’s all in on everything she does. She flings herself headfirst into whatever it is she needs to do, and doesn’t worry about picking up the pieces.”

“That sounds like Skye.”

“We’ve had to have a few talks about thinking through things before jumping into them. About making good choices. But even with that you can tell she’s trying to figure out how to do the right thing. And we’ve got her set up with a tutor to help with some of the school challenges.”

“May, that’s fantastic.”

“There is one thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” May said slowly. “Skye’s been… asking about her parents. That was one of the things we had to talk with her about, actually. She managed to use the computer to start digging through some files she probably shouldn’t have had access to, and Phil and I addressed it, but she wants to know where she comes from. I’m sure you get that kind of question all the time, and I know you’re probably swamped with other cases, but Phil and I promised we’d help her look into it.”

“And you want to know if I have anything that might help?” Victoria guessed.

“There’s not much in her file, besides a timeframe and a potential hospital…”

“Yeah, I know. I wish there was more I could tell you, but the nuns’ notes are pretty limited, and since I inherited Skye’s casefile fourth-hand, I don’t have much insight on the earlier pieces. This probably isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s a longshot on finding any information about her birthparents.”

“Does Izzy still have that friend over in Sheboygan’s PD? The chatty one with the funny name?”

“Who, Idaho? Yeah, I think so. As far I know he’s still in that department. Why, what are you thinking?”

“Just that I might be able to do a little digging with the right connections. Unless that’s not allowed?”

“May,” Victoria said, “you’re more than welcome to turn over whatever stones you’d like. Just don’t get your hopes up, and try not to let Skye get hers up, either. It’s a cold trail.”

“You never know,” May told her, a sly grin spreading across her face. “I tend to work well in the cold.”

* * *

Nothing new came across May’s desk the rest of the afternoon, so she took the opportunity to make a call over to the Sheboygan Police Department and ask for Idaho. A chipper-sounding man with a slight east-coast accent picked up the line.

“Idaho speaking.”

“Idaho? This is Melinda May with Manitowoc PD. I’m a friend of Isabel Hartley’s and I was wondering if you could dig up some information for me.”

“Hey, any friend of Hartley’s is a friend of mine,” the man said. There was a muffled sound, like he had put his hand over the receiver, and May could hear him calling out something to someone who was presumably in the room with him. “Hey, don’t let Horowitz take all the raspberry this time!” May cleared her throat to remind him that she was still on the line.

“Sorry about that,” he said, returning to a normal volume. “Things get cutthroat on Danish day. What can I get for you?”

“I’m trying to locate some people, but all I have is a general location and a two-month window of time.”

“Well, that’s not the most specific of parameters…”

“No,” May agreed. “Really what I’m looking for is any leads on a possible identification on some birthparents for a kid I’m working with.” She opted not to share that she was fostering the child in question. Better to not entangle her search with personal details, she reasoned. “The child was born somewhere between May 1 and July 4, thirteen years ago, then left at a group home without any ID.”

“That one run by the nuns over on Union Ave? St. Agatha’s or whatever it’s called?”

“St. Agnes, yes. She showed up in an Ames’ Memorial blanket, if that helps.”

“Not surprising. That’s the only hospital we got over here. So you’re looking for a parent ID on a doorstep kid from 13 years ago?”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, I’ll be honest, that’s not really my area of expertise, but I’ll see what I can dig up for you. Ames’ is real tricky about their records. Usually you’ve got to go in person, since most of their stuff is still hard copy. Crazy, I know. In this day and age… old habits die hard, I guess. I can run a search for missing persons around that time, check for other criminal activity, death records, things like that in the meantime.”

“Only if it’s not an inconvenience,” May added. “I don’t want to take you away from your work.”

“It’s Danish day, nobody’s doing work today,” Idaho guffawed. May didn’t find the statement nearly as amusing as he did, but she held her tongue. No need to offend someone who might be able to help her.

“Ah geez, okay, there’s a whole big mess of hits for that timeframe. I mean, not anything crazy big, it’s still Sheboygan we’re talking about, but apparently that was a busy time for us. No missing persons that seem to match a baby girl from around then, but a whole slew of crime reports. A string of break-ins, a disgruntled former employee trying to burn down the pizza parlor, some kids getting busted for spray painting the old bridge… let’s see… lots of public intoxication around the 4th of July, some DUIs… anything sounding like it might be what you’re looking for?”

“No,” May said regretfully.

“Oh, here’s something. Apparently there was some kind of physical altercation at the hospital around then. Some guy went nuts on a doctor and tried to do him in. Oh geez, okay, it says here nearly beat the doc to death. Poor guy. Nothing here about the whack-o who did it, though, besides a God-awful police sketch. I guess we never caught him. Case is still listed as open.”

“Does it say anything about the man’s connection to the hospital? Was he a patient? An employee?” May asked. Her mind was starting to pick up speed, rifling through the possibilities.

“Nah, sorry, nothing that concrete. I’ll be honest, the report’s not filled out very well. I can send you over what we have, though, if you’re interested.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“So why the interest in a missing persons from over a decade ago?” Idaho asked casually. May could hear the clacking of computer keys through her receiver and assumed he was making small talk while he worked on emailing the file. “Connection to a case you’re working on, or just looking to crack something in your spare time for fun?”

“The child in question is of interest,” May said. She kept her tone measured, wary of revealing anything too personal to the chatty cop. There wasn’t anything wrong with her digging for information on Skye’s past, but she knew people could be touchy about crossing the wires between work life and personal life. She knew how to keep the different spheres of her life separate, how to keep things from getting personal, but not everyone understood just how adept she could be at compartmentalizing. “I’m trying to fill out as much of a background as I can, but information’s been pretty limited.”

“I’m not surprised, if she came from that nun house. I’ve heard their records are worse than Ames’.” He laughed again, and May, again, did not join him. He seemed like a nice enough person, but he was far too loose-lipped and unfocused when it came to her taste professionally. She knew it made her sound like a snob, but she wasn’t interested in encouraging his flippant attitude about shoddy paperwork.

“All right,” he said after a minute. “You should be getting a ping in your inbox from me. It’s May at Manitowoc, right? M-A-Y?”

“Like the month,” May confirmed.

“We should be all set, then. Anything else I can do for you, May?”

“No, thank you, Idaho. You’ve been very helpful. Tell Hartley hello for me, would you?”

“That I can do. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise.” The receiver clicked as their lines disconnected, and May leaned back in her desk chair, deep in thought. It might be nothing. People got into altercations all the time, and tensions were sure to be running high in a place like a hospital, after all. Still, something tickled at the back of May’s mind, some kind of instinctive hunch that told her there was something worth investigating further. Her colleagues joked about her gut feelings from time to time, calling it her sixth sense and dubbing her “Spider-May,” among other creative monikers, but no one ever dared dismiss a hunch from Melinda May. She had proven herself too many times over the years for anyone to make that mistake, and she knew it would be foolish to make it now.

Turning to her computer, May pulled up her email and opened the file that Idaho had sent over from Sheboygan. He hadn’t been wrong about the report being poorly filled out. It was a basic physical assault charge form, but the details were sparse and somewhat jumbled. According to the form, an unknown man had entered the hospital on the 4th of July and began attacking on of the doctors on rotation at the time. The doctor claimed not to know the man, and none of the witnesses – two nurses and a patient who had been sitting in the waiting room at the time – recognized him.

One of the nurses had provided information that led to the clumsy police sketch, but Idaho had been right about that, too. The sketch was terrible, both in terms of quality and usefulness. Between the sketch and the descriptions offered by eyewitnesses, all May could discern about the assailant was that he was a white man with brown hair in his thirties. One witness claimed he was 6’5, another 5’10, and reports on his approximate weight were just as varied.

May’s eyes jumped down to the bottom of the page, where the doctor’s injuries were detailed – mostly some vicious blunt force wounds from a fist fight, plus several defensive knife wounds on the hands and arms. The doctor had been admitted to his own hospital for several days following the incident, but interestingly, chose not to have the police pursue the matter further or press charges against his mystery attacker. She scanned the page until she found the doctor’s name and contact information. There. Dr. Daniel Whitehall.

The spike of adrenaline that May always felt when she started making headway on a case began to pulse through her, and she quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number listed after Whitehall’s name. She received only the agitated tones of a disconnected line signal and hung up just as quickly as she’d called. She should have figured that he wouldn’t have the same telephone number 13 years later. Not one to give up easily, May returned to the file and located a second phone number – the one for the hospital.

“Ames’ Memorial Hospital, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Detective Melinda May with the Manitowoc Police Department. I’m working on a case and was wondering if you might be able to provide me with some information about a doctor who works with you.”

“What kind of information are you looking for, ma’am? I can transfer you to our records department, or to human resources?”

“Records will be fine, thank you.”

After a few minutes of cheesy elevator music, the phone line reconnected, and a woman answered.

“Ame’s Memorial Department of Records, how can I help you?” May repeated her greeting and request for information.

“We don’t normally give out information like that over the phone, ma’am,” the woman said. She sounded apologetic. “You’re welcome to submit a written request or visit us in person…”

“Well, could you connect me with Dr. Daniel Whitehall? I have a few questions I’d like to ask him in relation to my investigation.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, Dr. Whitehall no longer works here.”

“I see.” May considered her options briefly. “Do you know where he works now? Or how recently he was employed by your hospital?”

“Again, that’s not really the kind of information we give out over the phone, ma’am.”

“Did he work in labor and delivery while he was with you? Or did he ever mention a physical attack from a former patient or coworker?”

“Ma’am, there’s really not much I can say…”

“Please,” May said softly. “There’s a child – this girl, and I’m trying to help her–”

“Is this about one of Dr. Whitehall’s…cases?” the woman asked hesitantly. May frowned, confused. Sensing that she had found a small window of opportunity, however, she played along.

“It could be. I’m trying to find any connection between the girl and Whitehall. Or, more specifically, between Whitehall and a man who may have attacked him several years ago. Anything you can tell me about him might be helpful. What did Dr. Whitehall specialize in?”

“He… he was a surgeon.” So, not an OB-GYN, May noted. The woman was speaking furtively now. “But he would often… assist with patients in various capacities.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, we’re not a very large hospital, so a lot of the time doctors and nurses will wear multiple hats. The surgeon on call may be asked to help with a variety of patients if they’re the only one on rotation at the time. A birth, a heart attack, things like that. I know that’s not exactly protocol in the bigger hospitals, but you have to understand the limitations on our resources…”

“No, of course,” May assured her. “That’s not what I’m interested in.”

“Look, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but if you’re looking into his cases already, then I’m sure you already know. Dr. Whitehall was dismissed from the hospital about 7 years ago for… ethics violations. The whole thing was kept quiet, but I don’t think he’s allowed to practice medicine anymore, so it’s unlikely that you’ll find him at another hospital.” The woman’s voice was coming low and fast, like she was trying to say as much as she could before getting caught.

“What kind of ethics violations?” May asked, her pulse quickening.

“Like I said, if you’re working with one of his cases, then there’s not much I can say that you probably don’t already know. Apparently it had been going on for years until the hospital administration finally caught wind of it.”

“Is there documentation of Dr. Whitehall’s dismissal that I could have access to?”

“None that I’m authorized to give out,” said the woman regretfully. “You’d have to go through the director of the hospital if you wanted information like that, I’m afraid.”

“And there’s nothing you can tell me about anyone who would have come after Dr. Whitehall 13 years ago?”

“That was before my time,” the woman told her. “But if what they say about Dr. Whitehall is true, then it wouldn’t surprise me if he made his fair share of enemies over the years.”

May thanked the woman for her time and left her phone number, in case she had any other information to share, before exchanging goodbyes and hanging up. She still couldn’t be sure that any of this mess had anything to do with Skye, but she had been right about one thing: There was certainly something worth investigating here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnn... and so, the plot thickens! Hope you all liked this one :) Thanks for continuing to read!


	34. All the Wrong Words

“There’s just something weird about the whole thing, Phil,” May said as she climbed into bed that night. She had spent the last half hour or so outlining her findings to Phil as they had both gotten ready for bed. Phil, as always, was an excellent listener, and had looked as confused as she felt while she caught him up to speed on her sleuthing.

“I agree,” he said, sliding in next to her. “There’s definitely more question marks than answers with that one. I do have one question for _you_ , though, Mel, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way—”

“A reassuring way to start,” May teased. “What is it? You know I can take it.”

“I’m just wondering…well… Honey, what if you’re going too far out on a limb with this one? You don’t know for sure that this doctor or the man who attacked him have anything to do with Skye, and on top of that, all of this is happening outside of your jurisdiction. Don’t you think the Sheboygan PD is on top of it? The woman at the hospital said that Whitehall had been caught and stripped of his medical license. It sounds to me like the case is already closed.”

“You’re right,” May admitted, rolling over onto her side so she could face Phil. “I don’t know if any of this has anything to do with Skye, but something is telling me that there’s a connection. Something’s rotten about this doctor, and he was attacked on the same day that Skye was dropped off at St. Agnes. Sheboygan’s not a huge city, Phil, there can’t be that many strange things going on all on one day.”

"A famous Melinda May hunch?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows up and down conspiratorially. She swatted playfully at his shoulder.

“If you have to call it that, then yes. It’s just a feeling I can’t shake. He might have gotten caught by his hospital, but there’s not any record of his dismissal or punishment that I’ve found so far. Nothing in the newspapers, no police reports about medical misconduct or lawsuits for malpractice. That kind of thing usually gets attention. I don’t know if the hospital covered it up, or if they let him go quietly to avoid the scandal of it all, but either way, I can’t find anything that tells me that this guy isn’t still out there doing god-knows-what to people.” She looked Phil deep in the eyes, revealing a small piece of her own pleading. “Phil, you should have heard the woman on the phone. She kept calling them ‘his cases,’ like he had this whole group of people he’d been doing mad science experiments on or something.”

“Mad science? Are you sure you haven’t just been paying a little too close attention to the Avengers cartoons on Saturday morning?”

“Phil, I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not a joking matter,” Phil apologized. “I just don’t want to see you get in over your head with something that might not need to be solved. Especially when pursuing it might mean trouble.”

“I know,” sighed May, resigned. “I definitely don’t want trouble. Not now that we have the girls to think about. I just… don’t know what to do, Phil. I feel like I’ve edged the lid off of Pandora’s box. I should just shut it back up, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s still out there. If he’s hurt people. If I’m onto something here – if I’m learning things that could end up helping someone – I don’t think I can just sit back and do nothing.”

“Mel,” Phil said seriously. “You’re one of the most fiercely loving and compassionate people I know. It’s one of the things I love most about you. And I know that you’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people of the world who can’t defend themselves. I don’t want you to lose that piece of yourself, but I also don’t want you acting like you’re disposable for the sake of everyone else. You matter. You matter to me, to the girls, to your friends and your parents. I know your job comes with risks, and I’ve made peace with that a long time ago, but I also know that you have a tendency to… invite more risks than come with the territory.”

“Are you saying I’m being reckless?” May asked. She was trying not to feel hurt by the accusation, but she knew there might also be some truth to what he was saying.

“No,” Phil assured her. “You’re one of the most levelheaded people I know. If anything, _I’m_ the reckless one out of the pair of us,” he teased. “But I also know you have no hesitation when it comes to throwing yourself into your work, especially when it’s for someone else’s sake. I just want you to remember that you have more reasons to hesitate now. Three of them, all right down the hall.”

“So, what are you saying? That I should drop this whole thing?”

“I’m saying, just be careful,” Phil murmured, reaching over and wrapping her up in a warm embrace. He pulled her back in towards his chest, cradling her while their fingers intertwined. The gentle rubbing of his thumb back and forth across her hand soothed her, helping her feel more relaxed than she had all afternoon. He was so good at knowing exactly what she needed. “I’m saying you mean too much to too many people to not take a few extra precautions every now and then. Maybe you could just focus on the Skye part of this puzzle. Or talk to that guy in Sheboygan – Izzy’s friend. See if he knows anything else about the doctor, and let him handle things on his end. What was his name again, Montana?”

“Idaho. I have no idea if that’s a nickname or a real name,” she smiled, “but even Victoria called him that when we spoke earlier.”

“I really want to make a joke here, but I’m struggling to come up with a proper potato pun,” Phil said, stifling a yawn, “which tells me that it’s past time for me to go to sleep. I love you, Mel. Goodnight.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

“May? Can I ask you something?” It was after dinner and May had retreated to the office to catch up on some emails while Phil and the girls watched one of his goofy cooking shows. She couldn’t remember if tonight was the night for back to back episodes of the one where the contestants cook inside of a grocery store, or the one where they cook over a fire at a campsite, but either way, it was lighthearted fun that they all seemed to enjoy. She hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps and was surprised to see Skye lingering in the doorway when she turned around at the question.

“Of course,” May said, easing her laptop closed and swiveling her chair so that she could face Skye head on. “You can ask me anything, Skye. Do you want to come in?”

Skye shrugged one of her shoulders up and down – a gesture that May was starting to learn meant ‘not really.’ She had no idea if Skye did it consciously or not, but usually if she was trying to say no to something, she defaulted to a shrug instead of just saying ‘no’ outright. Part of that may have just been a 13-year-old kid thing, May reasoned, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Skye had developed the habit after living in places where she wasn’t allowed or able to tell people no.

“What’s on your mind, Skye?” May asked, relaxing her face into a smile that she hoped would put Skye at ease. It must not have worked, because Skye stayed glued to the doorframe and began toeing at the ground, watching her own foot move rather than look May in the eye.

“I was just… I was wondering if…” Skye’s face was squinched with reluctance, but May didn’t do anything to break the silence. She knew better than to make Skye feel like she was impatient for Skye to speak. “It’s just, you said you would look, so I wanted to know if… you found anything yet. On my parents, I mean.”

Ah. There it was. If she was being honest with herself, May had been dreading the moment where Skye followed up on the promise she had made. Not because she hadn’t honored it, of course, but because she wasn’t sure that she had anything that she could tell Skye, not at the moment, at least. She had no desire to include Skye in her meandering search for a disgraced doctor who might not even have anything to do with Skye’s parents, nor was she interested in telling Skye that her father might be a nameless someone who nearly bludgeoned another person to death. She had no evidence to suggest that was the case, and even if it was, she wasn’t sure how Skye would handle the news.

There had been so much hope in Skye’s eyes when she had first asked May and Phil to help her look, and the last thing May wanted to do was give Skye yet another reason to believe the world was a cruel and unfair place. To be fair, the world often _was_ a cruel and unfair place, but it wasn’t always, and Melinda May felt a responsibility to show the three children now living in her home that the horrible hands they’d each been dealt in life did not have the final say on who they were and what their lives could be.

“Skye,” May began gently, and she had to work to keep herself from wincing at how quickly Skye’s face fell. She was already messing this conversation up. Where was Phil when she needed him? He was always so much better at the talking parts. “I’ve done a little looking, but I… I haven’t turned up much, yet. The hospital that you might have come from is very strict about their records, and it’s hard when we don’t have much other information.” Skye nodded, a small, turtle-like nod with a weak chin. This wasn’t what she had wanted to hear. May thought quickly, trying to settle on just how much she could tell Skye without saying too much or outright lying to her.

“I’ve spoken with someone in the Sheboygan police department who might be able to help us, but so far he hasn’t found much either. There’ve been a lot of files to go through, but those only cover crime reports and missing persons and things like that. If your parents weren’t criminals, then it’s unlikely that they would show up in those files.”

“Do you think they were?” Skye asked. A hint of stubbornness was creeping back into her tone. “Criminals, I mean. If a person is messed up enough to leave their baby on a doorstep, then maybe they’re messed up enough to be criminals, too.”

“Skye, I’m sure your parents were good people,” May soothed. “There are lots of reasons why someone chooses to put their child up for adoption. Maybe they couldn’t take care of you and they wanted to give you a chance at a better life.”

“Maybe,” Skye murmured. “Maybe they wanted to make sure I was looked after until they were ready to come back and get me, or maybe they took one look at me and decided they didn’t want me.” She looked up then, and May’s heart twisted at the sight of Skye’s hardened eyes and dismayed expression. “I’ve thought about all the maybes. Sometimes I think they’re still looking for me. That they still want me. But I know it’s probably not true. I know they probably didn’t love me enough to want to keep me. But that’s why I have to find them. I have to know, one way or the other. Whatever the answer is, it can’t be worse than having nothing by maybes for the rest of my life.”

“Skye…” May’s voice faltered in her throat. People like Phil and Victoria kept telling her she was a natural at this parenting thing, but it was moments like these that reminded her painfully that she had no clue what she was doing, and that she was in way over her head. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to a revelation like the one Skye had just dropped into the airspace between them.

She should have told Skye that she was loved, even if her parents hadn’t kept her, should have assured her that she was wanted and worthy of something so much better than what she had been given. That’s what a good parent would have told the angry and hurting child standing in front of her. Instead, she felt the words die before they even reached her lips, stifled by an irrational fear of overstepping. Instead, she offered Skye something feeble and pitiful – something that she was sure sounded just as empty to Skye as it did to her.

“Skye, I’m doing my best. I promise I’ll let you know if I find anything concrete, but it’s not easy to track down people when there’s not any kind of paper trail to work from. I know it’s hard to hear, but I need you to be patient.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Skye mumbled, ducking her head. Nearly all of the fire that had been sparking in her eyes a moment ago had gone out. “I didn’t mean to bother you about it. I was just wondering.”

“You didn’t bother me, Skye,” May assured her. “I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten, and I don’t want you getting your hopes up too much. I can’t promise that I’ll find anything.”

“I know,” Skye said again. She was pulling away, drifting further and further out of the doorframe. May scolded herself internally. She had missed her opportunity to say the right thing, and now her chance to connect with Skye was slipping through her fingers.

“Thank you. For looking, I mean,” Skye said quietly, before disappearing back into the hall. She was gone before May had a chance to say another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter, but hopefully the Philinda goodness made up for that :) Plus, we need a little calm before the brewing storm!


	35. Baggage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for bullying and general awfulness from (who else?) Ward

As they approached the middle of October, the autumnal weather finally decided to rear its head and chase the unseasonable warmth they had been enjoying the last few weeks out of town with a gust of crisp, fall air. As Skye, Jemma, and Fitz sat around their now usual meeting spot at the melted table, Skye couldn’t help but be enamored with the puffs and curls of breath that danced around their faces in the chilly morning air. It wasn’t cold enough to truly bother anyone just yet, but there was something about the way the breeze clipped across her cheeks and nose, carrying the familiar scents of fallen leaves and woodsmoke that she always associated with the arrival of fall, that made Skye feel electric and alive, even as the sky was overcast and drab above her.

“I’m just saying, I think a monkey would make an excellent lab assistant,” Fitz stressed, puffing slightly onto his cupped hands. “Monkeys have gone to space, for crying out loud. And their sweet little hands would be so useful with all the knobs and buttons on the equipment.”

“We’ve also sent fruit flies and samples of moss into outer space,” Jemma reminded him pointedly. “But I wouldn’t want either of those in my lab unless I was studying them.”

“Well, fruit flies don’t have prehensile tails or opposable thumbs, now do they?” Fitz challenged her, a delighted grin spreading from ear to ear.

“I guess the option of just having another person to help you in the lab is off the table?” teased Skye. “I’ve got opposable thumbs and I can talk, which I think gives me a leg up on the monkey.”

“A lab is a sacred space, Skye,” Fitz said, like he was explaining the obvious. “You can’t just let anybody into your lab. Somebody might not respect your filing system, or they might misplace your samples or unbalance your centrifuge. A trained monkey, on the other hand…”

“Got it, message received,” Skye laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. “You don’t want me in your lab.”

“What about me, Fitz?” Jemma teased gently. “Am I allowed in your lab, or is it just you and the monkeys?”

“Well,” Fitz spluttered, his face going red. “I mean, you’re certainly _welcome_ in the lab… You’re trustworthy, and you respect the sanctity of science… I was only trying to say that a team of monkeys could be very useful, if—”

“We’re just messing with you, Fitz,” Skye assured him. She nudged him playfully and managed to coax a smile from him.

“I knew that,” he said stubbornly. “Of course I knew that.”

Fitz was saved from further teasing by a loose basketball, which bounced over towards them and rolled to a stop at Skye’s feet. A second later, a grinning Trip jogged over and scooped up the ball.

“Hey,” he greeted them. “I can’t talk long – the guys think I’m just grabbing the ball – but I have some mission updates. Save a seat for me at lunch?”

“Aye-aye, Agent Triplett,” Skye nodded, flashing a mock salute. “Is that one of your slick double-agent moves? Losing the ball to cover a covert conversation?”

“Come on girl, you know I’ve got all the moves,” Trip said with a laugh. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you all later today, okay?”

He disappeared back into the throng of boys who were all whooping and jeering at him to come back and restart their game. Skye shook her head. She did not understand the appeal of group sports at all.

“What do you think Trip wants to talk to us about?” Jemma asked.

“Who’s to say?” Fitz shrugged and began fiddling with the zipper on his coat. “Probably just that Grant Ward is planning to make me take his exams for him or he’s going to jump me again or something.”

“Fitz, don’t talk like that,” Jemma soothed. “Ward has been leaving you alone lately, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, I suppose. He could be planning something, though. He’s been uncharacteristically reserved the last few weeks, especially considering what’s been going on with my cousin.”

“What do you mean?” Skye wanted to know. She remembered very clearly how tense things has gotten between Hunter and Ward’s brother at the soccer game they had gone to, but she had assumed that things would have calmed down between them by now.

“He doesn’t tell me everything, but I hear how he talks with his friends. Apparently there’s a lot of back and forth between them. Last I heard, Lance and them had dumped a bunch of Jell-O powder into Ward’s team’s water coolers, which of course made all their water congeal by the time they got to practice.”

Skye laughed out loud, and even Jemma smiled a little at the clever prank. “Okay, that’s kind of hilarious,” Skye said with admiration. She wondered if Bobbi had been in on the joke, or if she was leaving the pranking to Hunter. She made a mental note to ask Bobbi about it when she got home.

“Well, it would be if Christian Ward and his friends hadn’t retaliated by cutting the nets on the football goals. No one can prove it was them, of course, so now Lance’s team has to use the money they had raised for new uniforms to replace the nets instead. I heard him ranting about it to Mack after school one day in the car. He had a fat lip that day, too, so I don’t think the nets were the only thing Ward was messing with.”

“Oh.” Skye’s face fell. “Fitz, I’m sorry.”

“He swore it was just from taking a ball to the face in practice, but I think he was lying. He doesn’t like to worry my aunt.”

“And so you think that if things are getting bad between your cousin and Ward’s brother, then soon they’ll get bad between you and Ward?” Skye realized. Now Fitz’s gloomy prediction about Trip’s intel was making more sense.

“It’s the logical move,” Fitz shrugged again. “Christian knows that he can get to Lance through me, and Ward already has me pinned under his thumb. Simple strategy dictates that the easiest way for Christian to get what he wants is to have Ward mess with me, which in turn—”

“Hurts Hunter,” Jemma finished sadly. “That’s horrible, Fitz. That ought to be against the rules, using people’s family like that.”

“What rules, Jemma?” Fitz laughed harshly, and it came out like a bark. His expression was darker than the gathering clouds above them. “It’s not like they all laid out the terms of engagement before entering into combat with each other.” Jemma looked a little wounded by Fitz’s sharp sarcasm.

“You know what she meant, Fitz,” Skye said stubbornly. “You don’t have to be short about it.” The angry look on Fitz’s face faded slowly, and he returned to his coat zipper, chastened.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just wish all the fighting would stop. It’s exhausting being caught up in the middle of a war.”

“Well, then maybe it’s time to put a stop to it,” Skye suggested. “Maybe it’s time to make a plan.”

* * *

“It’s time to make a plan,” Trip told them excitedly, as he slid into a seat at their lunch table. Skye, Jemma, and Fitz had all already begun eating, since they didn’t have to wait in the hot line like Trip did. He speared a chicken nugget with his plastic spork and brandished it like a general with a riding crop. “Ward’s getting nervous. He thinks you’re all planning something, and he keeps asking me to pump you all for information.”

“Are you serious?” Skye asked incredulously. “Why would he think that? I mean, I guess technically, we _are_ planning something, but we’re only planning something now. It’s not like we’ve been cooking up a scheme for weeks.”

“I think you rattled him,” Trip told her. “He’s not used to people standing up to him, Skye, and between you not letting him walk all over you and the work Fitz has been turning in for him—”

“All perfect,” Fitz interjected, puffing himself up slightly.

“I think he’s waiting for a shoe to drop. It’s like he knows it’s too good to be true.”

“Well, he’s not wrong there,” Skye remarked. “So it had nothing to do with his brother, then? Just about us?”

“How do you know about his brother?” Trip looked confused. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, his brother definitely has a hand in how Ward acts. He hangs around our football practices sometimes. He’s hard on him – makes sure Ward is playing tough, owning the field, stuff like that. I guess his brother used to rule the school here and he wants to make sure the ‘family legacy’ is carried on or something ridiculous like that. But I don’t see how that has anything to do with you?”

“It’s complicated,” was all Fitz cared to offer.

Taking pity on Trip, Skye elaborated. “We ran into him once not too long ago. Fitz’s cousin is in some kind of grudge match with him. It’s not pretty, and we just assumed that we were going to get pulled into it sooner or later.”

“Family grudge match…okay,” Trip nodded slowly. “An interesting new layer to add to the mix.”

“Okay, well, if it’s not his brother, then what’s got Ward on high alert?” Skye asked. “We haven’t done anything differently.”

“You rocked the boat,” Trip explained. “And he’s trying to figure out how to right it before you tip him into the lake.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jemma scoffed.

“And paranoid,” added Skye.

“That’s Ward,” Fitz said quietly.

“Fitz is right. Ward doesn’t like curveballs, and you all are unpredictable for him. So, he’s nervous,” nodded Trip.

“So what are we supposed to do about it? We can’t exactly incite open rebellion,” Skye pointed out. “If we make any major moves, Ward will just flatten us.”

“Or worse, make his friends do it.” Fitz looked pointedly at Trip when he spoke, and Trip interpreted his gaze correctly.

“I promise, I’m not doing any of Ward’s dirty work. And I’m certainly not going to be his hitman. You’re my friends, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“We trust you, Trip,” Jemma promised him. Trip flashed them a grateful grin.

“Who’s ready to make a plan?”

* * *

They spent the rest of their lunchtime hashing out the details of their grand plan to take down Grant Ward once and for all. Skye was a little surprised by how hard it was to actually come up with something that was easy enough to pull off, complicated enough to not be figured out by Ward in advance, and effective enough to actually achieve anything. It didn’t help that everyone had a different opinion about the best way to handle a problem like Ward.

Fitz was attached to the idea of forcing Ward into a confession, or of somehow getting him to agree to new terms with their homework arrangement, but Skye and Trip didn’t feel like that was assertive enough. Jemma, of course, preferred a less confrontational approach that “minimized potential harm to everyone involved.” Skye thought that sounded like a nice idea, but reminded her that it wasn’t an especially realistic one.

“I do think you’re onto something with the confession, though, Fitz,” Trip said encouragingly. “I don’t know if we’d ever actually get Ward to admit to doing anything wrong, mostly because I’m not sure he thinks what he’s doing _is_ wrong, but I think if we were able to catch him in the act—”

“Get proof of him messing with us or cheating on his homework—”

“Or get him to screw up in front of a teacher—”

“Then we might be able to put a stop to it,” Trip concluded.

Skye nodded thoughtfully, mulling over the idea. “Just telling on him won’t do any good,” she said. “Grownups always listen to kids like him. But if we had proof, or eyewitnesses, then we could get him in trouble.”

“Don’t you think that would just make him angry?” Jemma asked worriedly. “Even if he got suspended or something like that, wouldn’t he just come back even more determined to… get even?”

“Maybe, but if he was caught, he wouldn’t have a chance to get even. All the teachers would be keeping an eye on him after that,” Skye said. She spoke from experience. Teachers watched you like a hawk after your first suspension.

“Plus, think about the message we’d be sending,” Fitz said, warming up to the idea. Skye could see the gears churning away in his brain. “If we managed to catch him at it, it would be like we were showing the rest of the school that he’s not untouchable. None of them are.”

“It would show them that there are consequences for their actions,” Trip nodded.

“Okay, so how do we catch him, then?” Skye asked. “What can we goad him into doing? I guess I could pick a fight with him in the hallway right in front of the principal’s office or something…”

“Please don’t,” Jemma said quickly, wrapping a hand around Skye’s arm. “Don’t do anything that would get you hurt.”

“He’s too smart for that, anyway,” Trip said with a shake of his head.

“I think we ought to take advantage of the fact that he already thinks we’re up to something,” Fitz said softly, after a moment of deep thought. Three faces all swung around to stare at him.

“What do you mean, Fitz?”

“I mean, if he’s already nervous that Skye’s going to challenge him, or that I’m going to ruin his homework, why not twist the knife a little? Use Trip, keep dropping hints that we’re planning something, that sort of thing. He’ll start to see every little thing as a potential threat, and eventually he’ll go mad waiting around for our plan to happen and he won’t be able to stop himself form coming after us.”

“Fitz, that’s… devious,” Trip said, a sly grin slowly spreading across his face. “And brilliant.”

“We just have to make sure we’re in control of the situation,” said Skye seriously. “We have to make sure that when he snaps, it’s on our terms. Somewhere that people will see, somewhere we can be prepared—”

“Somewhere no one will get hurt,” Jemma added.

“You guys,” Skye grinned. “I think we’re going to win this.”

* * *

Trip kept his distance the rest of the day, returning to Ward’s side in gym class and acting as though nothing was different. They had all agreed before parting ways at the end of lunch that it would be best if Trip avoiding being seen with them as much as possible, unless it was on Ward’s orders. They didn’t want to draw suspicion to their burgeoning plan. There were still a few details to be worked out, but Skye felt confident in the groundwork they had laid, and in Trip’s ability to feed false information straight into the ear of Grant Ward.

By the time Flex Time rolled around at the end of the day, Skye was in high spirits – something Miss Hill noticed when Skye came to ask for what was now becoming her usual hall pass to the library.

“You’re looking chipper, Skye,” Miss Hill smiled, as she jotted out permission for Skye to leave the room and spend her Flex Time in the library. Skye had only realized the possibility possessed by the hall pass a week or so ago, but since then she had requested one almost every single afternoon, and Miss Hill seemed content to oblige her.

“Just excited about what I’m going to work on for computer science,” Skye fibbed, taking the slip of paper from Miss Hill. She didn’t feel too bad about the lie. It didn’t hurt anyone, and she certainly wasn’t about to start filling Miss Hill in on the details of the brilliant scheme she, Trip, Fitz, and Jemma were cooking up.

“Glad to hear it,” Miss Hill told her. “Remember to be back here before the final bell.” Skye nodded and darted out into the hallway, her steps carrying her as quickly to the library as she could go without running in the halls.

She knew it was probably cheating on her punishment from May and Phil to be using the computers at school every day, but Skye couldn’t resist the enticing call of a computer, free from May’s monitoring stare. She relished the opportunity for free reign, even if it was only for 45 minutes and on a school computer with a tangled net of safety locks and server blocks, and she eased her conscience slightly by reminding herself that she wasn’t doing anything on the school computers that she wouldn’t do on May’s computer at home. It was just nice to be able to use one without being watched, sometimes.

The library was, unsurprisingly, quiet when she arrived, with only a few kids meandering around, picking out books or reading at the tables. Skye greeted Mrs. Bergmann, the librarian, and headed straight for her favorite computer in the back – the one that was tucked into the corner, so that the monitor faced the wall and Skye could see almost the entire library from her seat if she wanted to. She fired up the desktop and immediately made her way to the internet. She began by taking all of 6 minutes to zip through her computer science homework, and was pleased to check it off of her to-do list. The prideful part of her also made a mental note of the fact that she was, once again, able to do the assignment in a fraction of the time Ms. Amador had said it would take. What that fraction was, exactly, she couldn’t say, but she quickly pushed the thought out of her brain. It wasn’t time to think about math. It was time to think about babies.

Ever since May had told her that she wasn’t having any luck finding anything about her parents, Skye had been using her precious computer time to continue the search herself. She knew that May probably didn’t want her doing too much sleuthing of her own anymore, but Skye was growing impatient. The tantalizing tidbits of information she’d extracted from her files nearly two weeks ago had reignited her burning need to find the truth, and she didn’t want to wait around for the grownups to get their acts together.

She trusted May, and believed that May _was_ looking, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that May was keeping something from her, or at the very least, wasn’t trying as hard as Skye wanted her too. Logically Skye knew it was probably just because she was a busy person, with lots of other things to work on and worry about, but the slithery, cynical little voice in the back of her mind insisted that May was doing it on purpose. Skye hated that part of herself – the part that wouldn’t let her trust May completely – but she couldn’t get rid of it either, so she found herself, day after day, combing through google searches and newspaper archives, searching for even a shred of useful information.

Sometimes, when she found herself frustrated by the lack of leads, she would click over to the Ames’ Memorial hospital website and scan endlessly over their staff directory, trying to find someone who looked like they might have been the doctor who delivered her. The Maternity page on the hospital website said that there were only two doctors who worked in that department. They had a fancy title that Skye couldn’t read (ob-stick-something… she was sure Jemma would know what it was, but she hadn’t told Jemma what she was up to), and she had run each of their names through countless web searches, but nothing had come of that either. Still, it was nice to stare into the faces of Dr. Neena Sethi and Dr. Larry Winstead and imagine that one of them might have known her parents, might have held her as an infant, might have known something about where she belonged.

“I know your secret,” a low, sinister voice hissed, practically right in her ear. Involuntarily, Skye jumped, although she regretted it immediately when she whirled around and found herself face to face with a leering Grant Ward. He looked pleased with himself that he had managed to spook her, and Skye quickly arranged her expression into a scowl. She followed his eyes and realized that he was staring at her computer screen. Her ears grew hot.

“Yeah, you caught me, Ward. I’m about to have a baby and I’m looking for a doctor,” she snarked. She had to play defense.

“Stranger things have happened in a small town like this one.” Ward gave her a slimy grin that made her skin crawl. “But while I do find your viewing habits intriguing, that’s not the secret I’m talking about.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Skye spat.

“I know you’re not who you say you are,” Ward said simply, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. He arranged his legs in such a way that Skye was trapped in her corner. She felt her pulse quicken, and she looked around wildly to see if anyone had noticed what was transpiring between them. She had no such luck.

“I know that guy who drops you off everyday isn’t your dad,” he continued, “and I know that you came here from an orphanage.”

“That’s some imagination you’ve got,” Skye said uneasily. She had no idea how he had found out, but she was deeply unsettled by how much he seemed to know.

“You can lie all you want, but we both know it’s true.”

“So what if it is?” Skye set her jaw and tried to look as intimidating as she could, given her position. She didn’t think it was particularly effective, and Grant Ward’s smirk confirmed that suspicion.

“Don’t you think people would be interested to know we’ve got a real, live orphan in our midst? A regular Oliver Twist.”

“I’m not an orphan,” Skye snarled, her temper flaring. “Just because I don’t live with my parents doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”

“Oh, so you mean, you’re one of those kids that nobody wants?” Ward’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Well, that’s even better. That explains why no one hangs out with you except your weird little friend and that loser Fitz.”

“She’s not weird, and she’s not just my friend, she’s my sister. And Fitz is twice the person you are.”

“You should probably shut up before you really start to tick me off, Skye,” he growled. “You know, you wouldn’t be half so bad if you didn’t talk so much and you didn’t spend so much time with those freaks. But then again, I guess being a throwaway kid makes you one of them, doesn’t it?”

“Is there some point you’re trying to make here, or are you just trying to single-handedly deplete the earth’s oxygen supply?”

“The point is, Skye,” Ward said, leaning in close, his tone venomous and low, “unless you want everybody in school to know that you’re somebody’s unwanted, second-hand baggage, or that you go see a tutor every day, or any of the plenty of other things I know all about, you better think twice before you try anything with me. There’s a certain way things work around here, and I’m not going to let some smart-mouthed castoff—”

“You better stop talking right now.” There was a roaring in her ears, and her neck felt hot with anger. Skye stood abruptly, locking her eyes into Ward’s to let him know she was deadly serious. She was using every ounce of willpower not to punch him right across his smug mouth. Unfazed, Ward stood too, quickly dwarfing Skye again. He scoffed as he looked down at her.

“You don’t scare me,” he said icily. “And I don’t take orders from you.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Ward chuckled humorlessly, and turned to leave. “I know you’re not the brightest bulb in the pack, but I’m asking you to be smart about this, Skye. I don’t want to have to make things difficult for you.”

Skye had almost let him go, but the question that had been burning in her mind since his arrival forced its way out of her mouth before she had a chance to hold it back. “How did you find out?”

Ward looked over his shoulder at her and flashed a wolfish grin. “Let’s just say a friend of my brother’s finds you _extremely_ interesting, and she was more than happy to share when she found out I knew you.” Before Skye could pump him for any further information, he turned back around and sidled out of the library, giving Mrs. Bergmann a charming wave on his way out.

Skye felt her muscles go limp, and she flopped back down into her chair. Her brain was spinning out of control, trying to process everything that had just happened. Somehow, Ward knew about St. Agnes, and about her going to tutoring. He knew all of her secrets, and he would have no problems spreading them far and wide if she so much as put a toe out of line.

She had no idea who he had been talking to, or why any friend of his brother’s would find her interesting, but it unnerved her to think that there was some high schooler who knew every detail of her life. The only high schoolers she knew were Bobbi and her friends, but she couldn’t imagine Bobbi talking to Christian Ward after what had happened at the soccer game. Her mind drifted to Natasha, and to all the things Skye had shared with the older girl. She had thought Natasha was trustworthy, especially after everything that Natasha had shared with her and Jemma about her own life. She couldn’t believe that Natasha was the one who had been talking to Ward, either, but, then again, how many times had Skye been burned by putting her trust in the wrong people?

She turned her focus back to the computer screen, trying to calm down her frenzied thoughts. The happy faces of the Ames’ Memorial doctors glowed back at her, but this time there was something almost mocking in their frozen smiles. She hated that she’d let him get to her, but Ward’s words rung in her ears like a painful mantra, each one cutting into her heart with a jagged blade. _Throwaway. Unwanted. Castoff._ He had called her second-hand baggage. Was that how Phil and May thought of her? Like some burdensome hand-me-down kid they got stuck with? If he knew all those things about her, who’s to say he didn’t also know something about how her foster parents felt about her? She felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to find Jemma, to curl up into a ball and let Jemma hold her while she cried. A vision of Jemma’s worried face swam to the forefront of Skye’s mind, and she thought about how anxious it would make Jemma to know that Grant Ward had so much information about their lives. She couldn’t tell Jemma. She couldn’t worry her like that. This was something she would have to handle on her own – she wasn’t going to be anybody’s baggage anymore.


	36. Standing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief mentions of abuse, bullying, homophobia

Bobbi had been having an exceptionally good day today. She had an appointment with her physical therapist that morning, which meant she got to sleep in an extra thirty minutes and miss math, and her doctor had said she was making good progress.

“I’m going to ask you to keep using your crutches until I can see you again next week, just to be safe, but I think we can start trying out a few low-impact exercises,” he said. “You’ve been working on those strength exercises I gave you for the rest of your leg?” Bobbi nodded. She had been very diligent about keeping up with the doctor’s instructions ever since watching that first soccer game with her friends. Any fear that she had about not being able to heal fully was overshadowed by the powerful need she now felt to get back out on the field as soon as she safely could.

“Good,” he smiled. Dr. Gambhir wasn’t exactly what Bobbi would call a chipper man, but he knew how to be encouraging when he needed to be. “That will make your job easier as we move into the harder parts of rehab.”

He’d had her take off her brace and shown her a few stretches to begin testing out her knee’s capacity, rotating and bending her leg carefully as May watched. It was an odd sensation, partially because Bobbi had never had someone guide her leg around like it was a joystick before, but more so because of how stiff and underused it had become after weeks of bedrest, braces, and crutches.

“Your range of motion is already pretty good, especially considering the stage we’re currently at, which is a very good sign,” Dr. Gambhir said, more to May than to Bobbi. Bobbi didn’t blame him. It was probably awkward to talk to someone while you were bent over them swinging their leg around. “Let’s test out that strength, shall we?”

He guided her up into a standing position, and helped Bobbi keep her balance while she prepared to put weight on her unbraced knee for the first time since she had tried to get out of bed in the hospital. That felt like a lifetime ago. Her bad leg felt floaty now that it was unencumbered, and she felt a flutter of butterflies erupt in her stomach at the prospect of trying to stand on it. What if something went wrong? What if she wasn’t strong enough and she went crashing down to the floor?

Her increasingly rapid breathing must have given away how nervous she was feeling, because May was at her side in a flash.

“Are you okay? Do you need to take a break?” _Okay. Okay._ She was okay. Bobbi shook her head and took a steadying breath. “It’s all right to be nervous,” May said gently. “It’s been a while since you’ve stood on your own two feet, hasn’t it?”

It _had_ been a while, and not just since she’d physically stood on her own. Bobbi thought back to the years and years she had spent crouched in her father’s shadow, living as little more than a sliver of the person she wanted to be. She hadn’t been brave back then, hadn’t stood up for herself, but things were different now. Her life was different now. She was living in a place where she didn’t have to be afraid, where the people around her made her feel safe. She was still figuring out how to step into being the person she imagined herself becoming, but she had never felt like she had a better shot than she did now. She put her foot down and carefully shifted her weight onto her knee. She was standing up for the first time.

* * *

Besides the huge boost of confidence that her good news at the doctor’s office had given her, the other major benefit to missing morning classes was that May said she could pick up lunch on their way back to school. The looks on Mack and Hunter’s faces when she had swung into the lunchroom with her own bag of takeout, instead of her usual brownbag fare, was enough to put her in a good mood the rest of the day.

“You guys look so jealous,” Clint wheezed. He held out a few of his French fries and dangled them in Hunter’s face before turning to Bobbi and tapping his fries against hers like they were champagne glasses instead of deep-fried potatoes.

“Forgive me for not being thrilled to have a meatloaf sandwich for the third day in a row,” Hunter grumbled, picking at his slightly soggy food. “My mum messed up the recipe last week and made double what she should have, so it’s been leftovers all week.”

“I’ll trade you half of mine for half of yours,” Bobbi offered. She slid half of her burger across the table towards him, but Hunter looked bashful.

“No, it’s fine, Bob, really. I was complaining. You don’t need to subject yourself to this culinary travesty.”

“I like meatloaf,” Bobbi shrugged. “Go on, take it.”

“If you won’t, I will,” Mack teased him, snaking his hand out towards the burger. Hunter smacked it away.

“All right, all right, don’t get grabby, Mack, I’m taking the sandwich.” He grabbed the burger and wolfed it down in about three bites. A blissful smile spread across his face. “God, that was amazing.”

“Did he even chew?” Mack asked the rest of the table, laughing.

“I’m pretty sure his jaw just unhinged like a snake,” Natasha smirked.

“All of you shut it and let me enjoy this,” Hunter shushed them. Something in Bobbi’s chest swelled with happiness at the look of pure joy that was still resting on Hunter’s face. It felt good to make him happy.

“The meatloaf’s not bad,” Bobbi told him, after taking a bite of Hunter’s discarded sandwich.

“You’re already my hero for the day, Bobbi, you don’t have to compliment my mum’s poor cooking as well,” Hunter grinned.

“No, I mean it,” she said. “It’s way better than the meatloaf I made once. It turned out so bad that my dad—” She stopped herself short. She was getting careless. She had to pay better attention to the words coming out of her mouth. “He… he didn’t like it,” she finished lamely. Her fingers twitched instinctively, and she gave her crutches a squeeze under the table. Saying he didn’t like it probably qualified as a world-record understatement. He had gotten so mad at her for not cooking him something edible that he had thrown the whole thing on the floor, plates and all, and made her clean the whole thing up on her hands and knees while he aimed kicks at her periodically. He had said he wasn’t about to let anyone try to poison him in his own home, and despite Bobbi’s protests that it couldn’t have been poisoned, since she ate it too, he had locked her in her room until he finally had to let her out to go to school two days later.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice that she had ended her story with such a flimsy conclusion, and the boys moved on to discussing their chances in tonight’s soccer game against Reedsville. Natasha eyed her with a careful gaze, and Bobbi looked away, embarrassed. She had a hard time figuring out what Natasha was thinking a lot of the time. Something about the way the older girl held her face shielded her emotions from the rest of the world – a trick that Bobbi desperately wanted to learn.

“You’re still good to come with me tonight, right?” Natasha asked. Bobbi had been going to all of the home soccer games regularly now, although this would be only the second one where the boys would be playing, leaving her and Natasha to sit by themselves. Phil and May had been very nice about letting her go out so often, but Bobbi figured it was probably just because they were so pleased she had friends that they didn’t want to stand in the way of her socializing.

Bobbi nodded, and Natasha smiled. “Phil said as long as I was home by 9:30, then I was fine to go.”

“Good, because it’s way more fun to watch those guys play when I have some company.” 

* * *

Bobbi’s good mood propelled her to the end of the school day and to Phil’s classroom, where it had become her habit to sit and do her homework while Skye went to her tutoring session. Phil was behind his desk, humming a cheerful tune while he worked on some lesson plans, and Jemma had joined them as well, apparently not needed by Skye that day. She was doing that thing where she tapped her finger lightly on the desk while she worked, but neither sound bothered Bobbi. The familiar white noise of Phil and Jemma was almost comforting in a way, and she had no trouble concentrating on the biology assignment in front of her.

“Oh, Bobbi, I almost forgot, how was the doctor today?” Phil asked, looking up from his desk. It wasn’t unusual for him to make small talk while they worked, and Bobbi didn’t mind answering his questions. They were usually easy ones, like how her day had been, and it felt kind of nice to have someone who was genuinely interested in her life.

“Good,” she said. She felt her mouth widen into a smile in spite of herself. “I stood without my crutches today.”

“Bobbi, that’s amazing,” Phil gushed, his own beaming smile matching hers. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Well, it’s not like I ran a mile on it or anything,” Bobbi shrugged bashfully. Phil’s excitement made her insides feel warm and fuzzy, like a fluffy dandelion getting ready to burst out into the world, but his praise still made her a little self-conscious.

“Don’t be silly, that was a huge step you made today,” he said. Off to her right, Jemma nodded, wearing a smile of her own.

“My mum used to tell me, ‘the steps you take don’t have to be big, they just have to take you in the right direction,’” Jemma told her earnestly. “But with a knee injury, even something like standing unassisted counts as a big step _and_ a step in the right direction.”

“You guys are making me blush,” Bobbi said, flapping a hand to wave off their exuberant praise.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Phil surrendered. “Did Dr. Gambhir say when you might be able to ditch the crutches for good?”

“Not exactly. He wants me to keep using them until next week when he can check again, so maybe soon.”

“That’s really exciting news,” Phil smiled. “Definitely more exciting than anything that happened to me today.”

“How _was_ your day, Phil?” Jemma asked suddenly. “You always ask about ours, but you don’t tell us about yours.”

“Pretty good, actually,” he said, after considering for a moment. “Nothing too special, but I got to talk about the Pork and Beans War, so that was fun.”

“The what?” Bobbi asked, intrigued.

“The Pork and Beans War. Also known as the Aroostook War, although the term ‘war’ is a loose one, considering there was very little fighting,” Phil explained. “A lesser known dispute between the British and the Americans in 1838 over the Maine-Canada border. I always get a kick out of telling my students a bunch of lumberjacks were gearing up to fight one another, only to have the only casualties be from disease and a rogue bear attack.”

“Are you serious?” Bobbi was trying not to laugh, but the mental image she was creating of lumberjacks squaring off, only to be ambushed by bears, was too funny.

“Completely,” Phil said, starting to laugh too. “The best part is that no one actually died from the bear attack, so we’re free to enjoy the ridiculousness without having to worry about those poor jacks who had to fight a bear. Well, that and the step forward in Northern foreign policy spearheaded by Daniel Webster. I guess that's the more responsible 'best part' for a history teacher to pick.”

“Webster like the dictionary guy?”

“Webster like the secretary of state under three US presidents,” Phil corrected.

“Noah Webster is the one who published his own dictionary,” Jemma piped up. “It took him 26 years to compile _An American Dictionary of the English Language_.”

“Jemma, I’m pretty sure you’re the smartest person I know,” Bobbi said warmly. Jemma’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I just remember things. I like words and reading, so I remember things about them.”

“Still, not everyone can just store information like that in their brain,” Bobbi said. “I have to study for hours if I want to make sure I remember everything for one of Phil’s quizzes.”

“Hey, my quizzes aren’t that hard, are they?” Phil asked, pretending to be hurt. His eyes twinkled, letting Bobbi know he was messing around.

“They’re okay,” she assured him. “Although,” she added, a mischievous gleam sparkling in her own eye, “I don’t think anyone would complain if you made them even easier.”

They were all still laughing when Skye entered the room, Natasha following behind her. Usually, Skye was in a good mood after working with Natasha, but for some reason today, she was wearing a sour expression and her shoulders were hunched. Bobbi glanced over to Jemma, to see if the younger girl had any idea what was wrong with Skye.

“She’s been like that since we left school,” Jemma murmured, so only Bobbi could hear her. Bobbi noticed that the tempo of Jemma’s tapping increased slightly, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Hey Skye, how’d it go?” Phil asked cheerfully. His smile didn’t make it all the way up to his eyes, and Bobbi could tell he had noticed Skye’s bad mood, too.

“Fine. Can we go home, now?” she asked sullenly. Phil looked a little taken aback, but nodded.

“Sure, let us just grab our stuff,” he said. He looked over at Natasha, asking silently for an explanation. Natasha waited until Skye wasn’t looking at her, then shook her head slightly in a gesture of “ _I don’t know._ ”

“Skye did some really good work today, Mr. Coulson,” Natasha said, forcing her tone to sound upbeat. “We started working on ratios, and we looked at how they’re basically like fancy fractions.”

“That sounds great,” Phil nodded, still studying Skye.

“Bobbi, I’ll see you tonight?” Natasha asked. “Clint’s letting me borrow his car while he’s at the game, so I can come pick you up right before, if you want?”

“That’d be good,” Bobbi told her as she gathered her crutches and got to her feet. Natasha gave them all a wave before disappearing into the hallway, which only Bobbi and Jemma returned.

“Is everything okay, Skye?” Phil asked as they made their way out to the parking lot. His eyebrows were scrunched together and his mouth was turned down – _worried face_. He wasn’t alone. Jemma was fidgety, tapping the whole way to the car, and even Bobbi felt herself growing concerned at Skye’s standoffishness.

“I’m fine,” she scowled, very obviously lying. “I’m just tired, and I don’t like ratios, and I want to go home.”

“Lucky for you, that’s where we’re headed,” Phil told her. He tried to put her at ease with a smile, but Skye didn’t seem to notice. “And maybe you could be a little more careful with your tone, there, kiddo. We’re just trying to help.” The gentle reprimand caused Skye’s shoulders to sag down even farther.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, Skye,” Phil assured her. “It can be hard to remember to speak kindly when you aren’t feeling that way.”

Skye didn’t answer, and instead climbed into the backseat of the car, crossed her arms tightly across her chest, and sat stock still, staring out of the window. Jemma chewed on her lip, then joined Skye in the backseat. Bobbi watched as she reached out momentarily, like she was going to put a reassuring hand on Skye’s arm, then thought better of it and withdrew her hand. If even Jemma couldn’t snap Skye out of whatever funk she was in, Bobbi thought, then there must be something really wrong.

* * *

When they all arrived home, Bobbi decided that, as curious as she was about what was bothering Skye, the smart thing to do would be to give her some space. She knew if she had been having a day as bad as Skye seemed to be, she wouldn’t have been especially interested in everyone crowding around and asking her a bunch of question.

One of the nice things about spending an extra hour at school while Skye went to tutoring was that Bobbi had far less homework to worry about at home. Add that to the fact that she’d only had a half day to begin with, and she was basically done for the day, which is why she found herself drifting to the den instead of the kitchen table or her room. Her knee was still tired from physical therapy, and she wanted to put it up before going and sitting in the bleachers for two hours, so the mushy sofa back there seemed like a good place to relax until Natasha arrived.

Her eyes sifted over the large collection of DVDs that Phil had amassed on one of the shelves in the den. He had said a few weeks ago that they could watch anything that they wanted to, and she figured that if she picked the right one, she could time it just right with Natasha’s arrival. She stopped searching as soon as her gaze landed on one of her old favorites, and she couldn’t help but crack a grin. Bobbi slid the box off the shelf, and before long, the opening trumpets of _A New Hope_ were filling the room.

She had only been watching for a few minutes when a voice interrupted the arrival of Darth Vader onto the Tantive IV.

“What is this? _Star Trek_ or something?”

Bobbi craned her neck around behind her to see Skye skulking in the doorway, still wearing her grumpy expression.

“ _Star Trek_? Are you kidding? I mean, don’t get me wrong, _Star Trek_ is cool too, but you seriously don’t recognize this?” Skye just shrugged one shoulder. Her face sank, making her look even sadder than before, which Bobbi wouldn’t have thought was possible. She cringed internally at herself for making the younger girl feel bad for not identifying the movie. “This is _Star Wars_. The very first one. Well, the first one made, but not the first one chronologically. You really have never seen it before?”

“I guess not,” Skye mumbled. “I haven’t watched a lot of movies.”

“Well, then, you’re in for a treat,” Bobbi smiled. “I’ve never gotten to watch Star Wars with someone who’s never seen it before. Come on, it’ll be fun.” She beckoned Skye to an empty spot on the couch. Skye hesitated for a second, then joined her. It was like she didn’t want to seem like she was giving in so easily to Bobbi’s invitation, but the allure of laser blasts and Princess Leia’s hair buns was too much to resist.

“Okay, so that’s Darth Vader, he’s the bad guy, and Princess Leia there, she’s a part of the Rebel Alliance. Her team stole some secret plans to Darth Vader’s base, and he’s trying to get them back, but she doesn’t have them anymore,” Bobbi explained, trying to catch Skye up to speed. Skye nodded seriously, her eyes glued to the screen.

“How come her hair looks like that?”

“I think that’s just how princesses wear their hair in space,” Bobbi said after a beat. She had never thought to question Princess Leia’s style choices before.

They watched in silence for a few more minutes, until Darth Vader captured Leia and ordered the ship to be destroyed.

“I guess she’s having a pretty crummy day,” Skye said quietly. Bobbi nodded. She wasn’t sure if that was Skye’s way of telling her that she wanted to talk or not, but something in her gut told her that the comment was supposed to be an invitation. She had no idea why Skye would want to talk to her over Jemma or Phil, but she wasn’t about to ignore Skye when she was having such a rough go of it.

“Seems like you might have had a pretty crummy day yourself,” Bobbi said. She made sure to keep her eyes on the movie, to make Skye feel like she was still in control. Bobbi knew she herself had an easier time talking when there wasn’t someone staring her down. Somehow that always made it feel more like a conversation, and like one she could get out of if she needed to.

“It was mostly okay,” said Skye, after a minute. “Except for what happened in the library.” Bobbi felt like she was sliding across a frozen pond, not sure of when the ice underneath her feet was going to cave in and send her crashing into the frigid water. She had no idea how to have this kind of conversation with someone as touchy and skittish as Skye.

“What happened in the library?” she asked. She worked hard to keep her tone casual and airy, like she didn’t really care that much if Skye talked or not. She was sure Skye knew exactly what she was doing, she was too smart not to see it, but she didn’t object, so Bobbi figured their little dance must be working.

“There’s this boy,” Skye began, and Bobbi felt her face grow hot. If Skye was about to ask for relationship advice, Bobbi might as well jump headfirst into the frozen pond instead of skating across the top. That was not a conversation she was prepared to have. “And he’s… well, he’s basically the biggest jerk I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot.” Relief flooded Bobbi’s muscles. She still wasn’t sure she’d be much help, but the odds had just gone up considerably. “He’s been messing with us for a while, and usually I can just tune him out, but…” Skye trailed off. Bobbi cut her eyes over to Skye and saw that her face was flushed with anger and embarrassment. She looked away before Skye could notice that she’d been watching her.

“But not today?” Bobbi prompted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Skye shake her head.

“He came up to me in the library, and he… he _knew_ stuff about me. Stuff I haven’t told people.”

“Like what?” Something like fear was beginning to creep into Bobbi’s chest. If there was one thing that put her on edge, it was people knowing things about her that she didn’t want them to know.

“Like about St. Agnes,” Skye said, barely above a whisper. “And about me being a foster kid and going to tutoring. And he said that he learned about it because some high school girl told him and his brother, but the only high schoolers who know about me are you and Natasha.”

“Skye, I promise, I haven’t told anyone anything,” Bobbi said quickly. She knew it was going against the unspoken rules of their conversation, but she twisted around in her seat to face Skye head on. “I would never.”

“I know,” Skye told her. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re keeping it a secret too, so why would you tell?” _Secret. Secret. Secret._

“You don’t think Natasha…?”

“I don’t know!” Skye erupted. Her eyes looked hurt and heavy, and there was a ragged catch in her voice. “I tried to get her to confess when I saw her today, but I didn’t do it right, because she didn’t know what I was talking about. She just kept making us focus on stupid ratios, which I hate.” Skye paused and caught her breath. She ground a stubborn fist into the corner of her eye, and Bobbi politely ignored the tears that Skye was erasing from her face. “I thought I could trust her. I told her about me and Jemma, and she told us stuff about _her_ life, and she didn’t make me feel dumb for not knowing stuff in tutoring. But I feel dumb now. I should never have trusted her.”

“Skye,” Bobbi said carefully, “we don’t know yet if Natasha was the one who told. She doesn’t really seem like the type to do something like that. I… I’m seeing her tonight. I’ll ask her about it, and I’ll tell you what she says, okay?”

“Okay,” Skye said reluctantly. _Okay._

“Is there anyone else who knows that might have told?” Bobbi asked. “I know you said you and Jemma told Fitz. Did you tell anyone else? Or Jemma or Fitz? Did they tell?”

“Our friend Trip knows, but no one else. And none of them would ever tell,” Skye said resolutely. “Jemma doesn’t talk to anyone else, and Fitz hates Ward, and Trip is on our side.”

“Wait, Ward?” Bobbi interrupted. “The boy you’ve been talking about is named Ward?”

“Yeah,” grimaced Skye. “Grant Ward. His brother’s the one who argued with Hunter at the soccer game.”

“If your Ward heard it from a friend of his brother’s, then there’s no way Natasha was the one who told,” Bobbi said triumphantly. She didn’t think Natasha would have done something like that, but it was nice to have some substantial proof to that point. “Natasha hates Ward. Not as much as Hunter and Clint and Mack, but there’s no way she would ever talk to him. They’re not friends.”

“Oh.” Skye’s eyebrows inched up her forehead and she cocked her head to one side. _Surprised face_. “I didn’t know that.”

“That doesn’t solve the mystery of Grant’s secret source, but it does mean that you weren’t stupid to trust Natasha,” Bobbi smiled. It meant she wasn’t stupid to have trusted Natasha either. “I’ll still ask her about it tonight, just in case she has any idea who might be behind it.”

“And you’ll report back?” Skye asked. A mischievous smiled was starting to tug at the corners of her mouth – the first smile Bobbi had seen on her face all afternoon. “Like a spy with secret intel?”

“I’ll report back,” Bobbi agreed. “Just think of me as your top agent.”

* * *

Natasha had been perfectly punctual in arriving to pick Bobbi up, and they had no trouble getting to the stadium. Bobbi had her own money for her ticket this time, thanks to Phil, who now made a point of bankrolling Bobbi’s soccer outings. She had protested at first, but Phil had insisted. When she had offered to work for the money, he had just laughed kindly.

“How about you work in the dish washing rotation and make your bed every day? That seems like fair work for a few soccer tickets and snacks.”

“Phil, I already help with the dishes and make my bed,” Bobbi pointed out.

“Then I guess we’re all squared up,” he smiled, pushing the five-dollar bill into her hands.

Natasha found them a pair of seats that were still in a patch of watery sunlight. The sky had been overcast most of the day, and the familiar October chill was starting to set in, but the few breakthroughs of sun made the temperature more than bearable.

They chatted for a while before the game started, mostly about what Bobbi had missed at school that morning and about her doctor’s appointment. Natasha was pleased by Bobbi’s news of progress on her knee, although she didn’t quite top Phil’s earlier enthusiasm. Although, Bobbi reasoned, there were probably very few people who could.

“Your foster sister seemed a little… off, today,” Natasha said eventually, once they had exhausted the rest of their small talk. “What was going on with her?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Bobbi said. “We talked a little at home, and she said some things that… didn’t add up, I guess?”

“How so?”

“Well, Skye was telling me about this kid who messes with her and her friends,” Bobbi began. “And apparently he’s Christian Ward’s little brother.”

“I remember Hunter’s cousin talking about a little Ward,” Natasha scowled. “I guess he’s just as delightful as his brother.”

“It would seem like it,” Bobbi nodded. “Skye said that he came up to her in the library at school today and he said some things that really rattled her. Like, he knew things about her that no one at school knows, like being in foster care and going to tutoring. I guess it really set her off.”

“Geez, yeah I can see why that would bother her,” Natasha said solemnly. “Someone you don’t like having information about you that you don’t want other people knowing. I’m sure it scared her to think that people might find out the things she’d been hiding.” _Hiding. Hiding._ Bobbi couldn’t be sure, but there was something odd in the way Natasha was looking at her. Like she wanted to say something more, but was holding back. Nervously, Bobbi tried to change the direction of the conversation slightly. She didn’t like talking about people finding out other people’s secrets.

“So anyway, the thing about it all is that the kid told her he found out from a high school girl, one of his brother’s friends. Skye didn’t know about you and Christian, so she just assumed that—”

“That I was the one who told,” Natasha finished sadly. “Because she had talked to me about being in foster care. That’s why she was acting so weird today. She kept trying to talk about lie detector tests and going to confession with those nuns she used to live with, but I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about.”

“I told her that it wasn’t you,” Bobbi assured her. “But I thought maybe you might have an idea of who it could have been. You know people here better than me. Who does Christian Ward hang out with?”

“Plenty of people, but none that I can think of that would know anything about Skye. All of his jock friends have better things to do than worry about a middle school kid, Kara Palamas has never met her, and…” Natasha faltered, then froze. “Wait. I know. Raina.”

“Who?”

“Raina. She’s not really who you’d expect to run with the jocks, but she’s always hanging around Ward and his friends. You’ve probably seen her before, she’s always wearing those weird flower dresses. She’s a tutor, too, and I’ve caught her trying to talk to Skye before. She knows that Skye’s a foster kid, because Mr. Coulson introduced Skye as his foster daughter in front of her on the first day.”

“Why would she talk to Grant Ward about it, though?” Bobbi asked, furrowing her brow. She realized she had seen the girl in question before, through the fence after Christian Ward had accosted Hunter at the Mishicot game.

“Who knows?” Natasha shook her head. “Maybe Christian put her up to it, to try and give Grant leverage against Skye and her friends as some twisted kind of way of getting to Hunter? She’s kind of odd, to be honest, and she was weirdly interested in your foster sisters the day I caught her talking to them.” Bobbi wrinkled her nose. That _was_ odd. As far as she knew, there was nothing about Skye or Jemma to warrant the attention of a random high schooler.

“Look, I’ll do my best to keep them apart at tutoring,” Natasha said, “but you should keep an eye on them, too. Raina’s bad news, so the less contact she has with Skye the better.”

“Bad news how?”

Natasha hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “She has this weird way of finding things out about people,” she said finally. “And then she uses it to get what she wants. How else do think someone like her got to be sitting at the right hand of the self-proclaimed king of Manitowoc High? She’s very good at convincing people to do the things she wants them to do, and punishing them if they don’t. Like, last year, when Elena’s cousin Joey was still in the closet, Raina found out somehow and tried to get him to ingratiate her with the rest of the football team. When he wouldn’t do it, she told Ward and all of his numbskull friends, and they bullied him so much that he quit the team and transferred schools. That’s right around the time she started sitting at Ward’s lunch table.”

“That’s horrible,” Bobbi said hoarsely. “She outed him? And his own teammates bullied him for it?”

Natasha gave Bobbi a withering look. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised to learn that Christian Ward is a huge homophobe on top of all his other charms.”

“I guess not,” Bobbi admitted. “But still, that’s… despicable.”

“And that’s why Raina’s dangerous,” Natasha said seriously. “If she really is the one who’s feeding Grant Ward his information, then there’s got to be an angle.”

“And we can’t let her use it,” Bobbi murmured. There was a tingling building up in her arms and legs; a nervous, agitated energy that felt foreign. It was an overwhelming sensation that it was up to her to make sure nobody messed with Skye or Jemma from here on out. Their sweet, cheerful faces swam in front of her eyes, and Bobbi suddenly knew that if anyone ever did anything to hurt them or take away their smiles, she would personally see to it that that person would be held responsible. She thought back to what May had said that morning at the doctor’s office when she had stood on her own two feet. She hadn’t always been good at standing up for herself, but she knew now that she would always be ready to stand up for someone else.


	37. Playing Defense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some swearing (because Hunter really can't help himself...), also brief mention of a death (in the past, not a current character!)

The soccer game itself hadn’t been all that exciting. Reedsville clearly wasn’t a soccer powerhouse, and they were obviously outmatched by the Manitowoc boys. Still, Bobbi enjoyed watching her friends shine in their respective roles. Mack, aided by his hulking form, was impenetrable as a goalie, blocking every single shot that Reedsville sent his way. Natasha had informed her that Mack had finished every single game of the season so far with a clean sheet, and that fact didn’t surprise Bobbi in the least. Even if Mack hadn’t been 6-foot-4, he still would have been an impeccable keeper, what with his sharp eyes and surprisingly quick reflexes. He had a way of seeing plays coming before they fully played out in front of him, which gave him a strong upper hand every time one of the Reedsville players tried to take a shot.

Hunter was dogged on defense, relentlessly marking every Reedsville player that came within his radius and chasing down every loose ball he could. He and Mack made a good team in the backfield, with Hunter buzzing in the faces of the Reedsville offense like an agitating hornet and throwing them off balance, giving Mack more than enough time to set up to block any attempted shot. Bobbi had a sneaking suspicion that Hunter probably enjoyed being as pesky and persistent as he possibly could, pursuing the ball and getting in the offense’s way at every opportunity.

Clint was equally as unbeatable on the field. He played a pushy style of striker that Bobbi could tell was getting under the skin of the Reedsville defense. Somehow, he always managed to be in the right place at the right time, and every single one of his shots was on target.

“Does he ever miss?” Bobbi had asked as yet another one of his shots curved spectacularly around three defenders, gliding through the air like it was a heat-seeking missile locked onto the back of the net and not a simple soccer ball.

“Honestly, no,” Natasha told her. “It’s one of his more infuriating qualities in most circumstances. I swear, he has a GPS or a homing signal hardwired into his body, because I’ve never seen him miss a basket or screw up a shot. Even his paper airplane skills are on point. Once, in middle school, I watched him launch a spitball all the way from the back of the classroom and straight into the teacher’s coffee mug, and the teacher didn’t even notice.”

“Remind me never to play HORSE with him,” Bobbi joked.

“He fleeced Hunter and Mack for about 50 bucks each that way when they first started hanging out last year,” Natasha laughed. “It’s mostly only annoying because he likes to showboat it when we’re hanging out, but in a game it’s a thing of beauty.”

In the end, Manitowoc won the game 5-0. It probably would have been more, but Bobbi suspected their coach told them to back off in the second half, and she noticed that he even started subbing in some of their benchwarmers towards the end. Still, everyone in the stands was happy to take the win, and the crowd all gleefully chanted the “Fight On” song as the players jogged off the field after the final whistle. True to their word, Mack and Hunter had taught her the words, although Bobbi still felt a little awkward singing it along with every other person in the stands. It was fun to yell at the end, though, and Natasha had no qualms about cheering at the top of her lungs, so Bobbi didn’t feel quite so self-conscious about it.

They made their way down to the fence at the bottom of the bleachers afterwards, where they met up with the boys, all of whom were grinning from ear to ear.

“How’d we look?” Clint asked, leaping over the fence and wrapping Natasha up in a sweaty bearhug.

“You’re disgusting,” she teased, shoving him away from her. “But you looked sharp. That third goal belongs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“That was a nice one, wasn’t it?” Clint sighed contentedly. His eyes caught something in the distance behind them, and he waved. “You didn’t tell me Elena was with you.”

Bobbi looked back and spotted Elena lingering by the bleachers, watching them shyly. She felt bad that she hadn’t realized Elena was there sooner. When Clint waved to her, she waved back, but it wasn’t until the rest of the group beckoned for her to join that she came over to say hello. Bobbi noticed that she was still favoring the ankle that had gotten dinged up in the Mishicot game.

“You guys played a good game,” Elena said, smiling. “You had some good saves, Mack. You’re faster than you look.”

“You calling me slow?” he laughed. Elena’s face went rosy and she started to splutter an apology, but Mack waved her off. “I’m just messing with you, relax.”

“I think that’s the most coherent Mack’s been around her in ages,” Hunter muttered to Bobbi out of the corner of his mouth, smirking slightly. “He must be feeling extra confident after that game.” Bobbi bit back a smile. Hunter wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t want to encourage his teasing of whatever was going on between Mack and Elena.

“Let’s give them some space, yeah?” Hunter suggested. “Come on, you can come with me to say hello to my mum.” He grabbed her by the wrist to lead her away, but Bobbi flinched instinctively at his touch. It wasn’t his fault, of course, but there was no way to explain that to him without everything else coming out. Fate was on her side, though, it seemed, because Hunter read the situation differently.

“Oh, right, I forgot about the crutches. You probably need your arms for those, don’t you?” he laughed. Bobbi smiled weakly and tried to play along.

Hunter barreled up the steps of the bleachers over to the section where most of the parents sat, urging Bobbi to keep up. For someone who professed to be lazy, Hunter had a remarkable amount of speed and energy left after having just played a full game of soccer.

He led her over to where Fitz was seated, smack in between two women who Bobbi was certain were sisters. They both had the same curly brown hair and gentle features, and their eyes were the same shade of brown as Hunter’s.

“Hello darling, brilliant match,” one of the women said as they approached. She had an accent not too dissimilar from Hunter’s, although hers sounded slightly more refined than his. Rounder, and smoother, Bobbi thought. She leaned over and kissed him on the top of his sweaty head, and Bobbi decided that she must be Hunter’s mother.

“Mum, there’re people around,” Hunter griped, squirming away from her. He had a cheeky grin on his face, though, and Bobbi wondered if he secretly enjoyed the affection.

“Your defense was good tonight,” Fitz piped up. He was swinging off of the arm of the other woman, who must have been his own mother. “Although their offense didn’t pose much of a threat, so I wouldn’t get too full of yourself.”

“Gee, thanks, Fitz,” Hunter rolled his eyes. “Bobbi, this is my mum and my Aunt Linda. You already know Fitz, of course.” Fitz gave her a chipper wave, and both Hunter’s mother and aunt greeted her warmly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Bobbi told them.

“Bobbi’s been hanging out with me and Mack,” Hunter explained. “We’ve got some classes together, and she’s family with Fitz’s friends.”

“Well isn’t that a small world?” Fitz’s mother said, impressed. “I didn’t know they had another daughter.” _Daughter. Daughter._

“Mr. Coulson’s her uncle,” clarified Hunter, much to Bobbi’s horror. “But she’s living with them now.” Fitz immediately looked confused, and stared intently into Bobbi’s face. She was sure her cheeks were the color of ketchup, but she didn’t look at Fitz directly. She didn’t want to give anything away, and she was praying that Skye and Jemma had explained the situation to him, or at the very least, that he’d be perceptive enough to pick up on the fact that she didn’t want him to correct the facts in front of him. To her surprise, some of her old, secret-keeping instincts kicked in, and she felt herself go into a sickening autopilot of deception.

“Speaking of my _uncle Phil_ ,” Bobbi said sharply, turning her head towards Fitz to make sure he wouldn’t say a word, “he doesn’t like it when I get home too late, so I should probably get going.” She hated the lies that were coming out of her mouth, but even if she was eventually going to be honest about everything with Hunter, doing it in front of his entire family was literally the worst possible scenario she could imagine. She gripped her crutches tightly to keep her hands or voice from shaking. She didn’t know what else to say, so she repeated her words from earlier and hoped that they would be enough to extricate herself politely. “It was nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure,” Mrs. Hunter smiled. Bobbi started to retreat down the bleachers, her crutches clanging against the metal steps. She was having a hard time keeping herself steady.

Hey, Bobbi, wait up!” Hunter’s voice rang out from behind her. Bobbi winced, but slowed her pace. Hunter bounded down the steps and drew level with her.

“I’ll walk you out,” he grinned.

“Don’t you want to be with your family?” Bobbi had a hard time believing that someone with a family as nice as Hunter’s would want to waste his time chasing after her.

“Nah,” he laughed. “I see them enough at home. Besides, I drove here earlier, so I have to go home on my own anyways. I just like to say hello to them right after and get Fitz’s assessment.” Everything with him was so casual – the way he walked right beside her, the way he talked to her, the way he interacted with his family. Bobbi couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like anything in her life was casual. Part of her envied Hunter’s ease with his life, part of her was terrified by it, but a third part – maybe the part she was the most confused by – was drawn to it. Something about his taking everything in stride made it seem like maybe she could start to do that, too.

“Well, still, you didn’t have to walk me,” Bobbi pointed out. “I know I’m on crutches, but I can still get around just fine.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hunter teased. His face was calm and happy. Kind, even. “I’m just getting back to Mack and my car, and you happen to be on the way. Although,” he added, “the company’s not so bad.” Warmth crept up Bobbi’s neck, but she gave herself a little shake to brush it away.

“Your mom and your aunt seem really nice,” she said. Small talk was good. She had never been great at it, but it seemed like a safe choice. “You all live together, right? The four of you?”

“Yeah,” Hunter nodded. “I guess I never really thought about it, but that’s something we have in common.” Bobbi cocked a quizzical eyebrow in his direction, seeking clarification on his observation. “You living with your aunt and uncle and ‘foster cousins’ and me living with Fitz and my aunt,” he explained. “Neither one of us exactly has a traditional living arrangement.”

Bobbi’s throat felt like it was swelling shut. He didn’t even know the half of it, and even though part of her was screaming for her to just tell him the truth, she couldn’t make herself do it. She wouldn’t even know where to start. Foster care? Her injuries? The truth about her dad or the fact that her mom walked out all those years ago? None of them seemed like an appealing conversation starter.

“You know, most people ask,” Hunter said delicately. “When they find out about Fitz and my Aunt Linda. They want to know if there’s a story there. You’ve never asked.”

“I didn’t want to pry,” Bobbi murmured. “I figured it was your business. Was I supposed to ask?”

“Not necessarily. Just unusual, is all.” _Unusual._ _Unusual._ Well, that was her in more ways than one. He was right about that, at least.

“So is there? A story there, I mean?” She wasn’t sure if that was what Hunter was getting at, but she thought maybe this was his way of getting her to ask him to open up. If so, he was even more confusing than she had originally thought.

“Not really, actually,” Hunter shrugged. He stopped walking and leaned against one of the handrails. Bobbi copied him, although she opted to lean on her crutches instead. “Everyone always expects some big, dramatic tale. Sometimes, if the person asking is being obnoxious, I’ll feed them something wildly entertaining and see how much of it they bite on. But the real version isn’t all that exciting. My dad’s dead and Fitz’s is a piece of shit, so once my mum and his both realized that they were living alone and miserable, with only their wayward sons to keep them company, they both packed up and moved us all to the States. Their other sister was already here in Chicago, but my mum and Aunt Linda were skittish about the city, so Aunt Sharon recommended this town. Apparently she’d done some work here way back and remembered how sleepy it was or something mushy like that.”

“Hunter, I—” Bobbi didn’t know what to say. He had been so matter-of-fact about the whole thing, like no part of his life story fazed him at all. “I’m sorry. Your dad –”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. “My dad was in the Royal Air Force when we lived back in Kent. He got killed in action back when I was nearly ten. My mum took it really hard, and I was a right terror for a while, picking fights, ditching class. We spent a year barely scraping by. I almost got kicked out of school, but that was right around the time Fitz’s bastard of a father finally left for good, so the timing worked out well for a transatlantic move. Both our mums needed a fresh start, I think.” _A fresh start. Was this the kind of town where a person could get a fresh start?_

“When you first came here, and you told us about your dad and the car accident,” Hunter said softly, “I was really glad to hear he wasn’t dead. I know how hard that can be. Not that being away from him is easy,” he amended quickly, “but it’s just temporary. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking forward to the day you ditch us and head back home, but it’ll be nice to be with your family again.” _Back home. Family. Again. What family?_

A horrible ringing was burning in Bobbi’s ears. Would she really have to go back at some point? She thought the point of foster care was that she never had to see him again, but the odious idea of this truly being temporary in every sense of the word, of her eventually having to slink back into his clutches, was taking root and overpowering any semblance of logic she once possessed. She had always known Phil and May wouldn’t be forever – Miss Hand had told her so – but she couldn’t stop the flood of terror that was telling her that saying goodbye to them would also mean saying hello again to her father. She squeezed her crutches, turning her knuckles white. _Take a deep breath._ There was no way she would really have to go back. Miss Hand had made that clear. It was just irrational fear talking. She would be okay.

“You all right, Bob? You look ill,” Hunter interrupted her fevered thoughts. His eyebrows were knit together and his mouth was pulled down into a frown. _Concerned face_.

“Fine,” she managed to croak. Now was her chance. She should just tell him. Hunter had told her everything about his family, about the truth in his past, why shouldn’t she just say hers? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d understand. He was standing right in front of her, and there wasn’t a trace of teasing on his face. Bobbi opened her mouth to speak.

“Hey, Bobbi, Hunter!” Natasha was calling up to them. Every word on Bobbi’s tongue died immediately and shriveled back down her throat. She had lost her nerve. “Are you coming back or not? I’ve got to get Bobbi home before 9:30.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Hunter checked. Bobbi nodded.

“We should go. You have to get your stuff, and I have to get home,” she said. The impulse to spill everything had passed, and she felt herself clamp shut, thick defensive walls sealing in around her heart. There were some things that just couldn’t be said out loud.

* * *

Clint and Natasha had taken her home, although not before a few more curious looks from Hunter that she tried to ignore. She was taking Natasha’s interruption as a sign from the universe that she was supposed to keep quiet, and who was she to argue with the universe?

Natasha and Clint talked most of the ride home, so Bobbi didn’t have to worry about keeping up the pretense of casual conversation with them, and back at home Phil and May had been content to hear that the game was fun and that Manitowoc had won. It seemed like they were both still having a little bit of a hard time with Skye, so Bobbi figured they had other things on their mind.

May _had_ given her one of those x-ray looks she was so good at when Bobbi had said she was going upstairs earlier than usual, though. Fortunately, she didn’t question Bobbi’s excuse of being worn out from her full day, although Bobbi suspected that May might try to check in before bed. She and Phil did that every night – something that Bobbi was still trying to decide if she liked or not. On the one hand, it was nice to have a few minutes each day that were set aside especially for her, but on the other, it was sometimes hard to figure out just how much she was willing or able to share during their little chats.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust May and Phil; on the contrary, they were some of the nicest adults Bobbi had ever met, much less lived with, but it was hard to just bare her soul to anyone, especially someone she’d only known a short while. That just wasn’t the kind of person Bobbi was. Or at least, that wasn’t the kind of person she’d been raised to be. Her life up until this point had been so focused on survival – on burying her emotions, hiding her thoughts and opinions, masking the parts of herself that got a rise out of her dad or rose the suspicion of others. Sharing her feelings didn’t fit into that equation, so she’d never really had much in the way of practice. She could tell that May and Phil were hoping that she’d share more with them – Phil especially – but that was something she wasn’t sure she could give them yet.

It came as a surprise, then, when the knock on her door half an hour later came not from May, but from Skye. It took Bobbi a few seconds to realize why Skye was there, but the doleful, expectant look on Skye’s face served as a staunch reminder. Bobbi had promised her intel.

“Did you talk to Natasha?”

Bobbi nodded. “I did. It wasn’t her, Skye. You were right to trust her.” Skye let out a sign of relief, puffing her cheeks out slightly with the force of her breath. Bobbi felt the corners of her mouth twitch at the sight, but managed to remain stoic. She didn’t want Skye to think she was laughing at her, and she knew the next thing she had to tell Skye was serious.

“Natasha has an idea about who might have been the one to tell Grant,” Bobbi said slowly. Skye’s eyebrows shot up her forehead and she took an eager step towards Bobbi.

“Really?”

“Have you ever talked to a girl named Raina?” Bobbi asked. Skye’s face wrinkled up into a frown.

“Yeah, once. She was almost my tutor, but Natasha came to my table first. She was asking me and Jemma questions about how we live with Phil and stuff like that, but something about her seemed weird, so Natasha got her to stop.”

“Well, that’s who Natasha thinks told. She said that Raina is friends with Christian Ward, and she’s the only other person who knows you go to tutoring and about…you know, fostering.”

“But why would she do that?” Skye wanted to know. She looked as confused as Bobbi felt. “She doesn’t even know me, so why would she care about me?”

“I don’t know,” Bobbi admitted. “Natasha didn’t really know either, but she told me to tell you to be careful, okay? Raina’s… not a very nice person, apparently.”

“She scared Jemma,” said Skye quietly. “That day she talked to us. Jemma didn’t like her.”

“Well, then that’s plenty reason enough to stay away from her,” nodded Bobbi. “I trust Jemma’s judgement about people, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Skye was quiet for a minute, deeply intrenched in thoughts that Bobbi couldn’t discern.

“Speaking of Jemma’s judgement,” Bobbi said as something occurred to her, “have you talked to her? About what happened today? She’s usually your go-to for stuff like this, isn’t she?” A pink tinge began to creep up Skye’s cheeks.

“She doesn’t know. And don’t you tell her,” Skye ordered suddenly. Her tone had grown harsh in a flash, and Bobbi was a little taken aback by the force of her command. She held up her hands in surrender.

“I won’t,” she assured Skye. “But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t—”

“She has enough to worry about,” Skye mumbled, the fire draining quickly from her. “She doesn’t need to be worried about this, too. I don’t want to weigh her down. She doesn’t need to deal with Ward’s stupid blackmail or his dumb threats or any of the other junk that comes out of his mouth.”

“Skye, if this Ward kid is really messing with you, maybe you should…” Bobbi trailed off. Do what, exactly? Tell a teacher? Tell May and Phil? She felt like she knew Skye enough by now to know that wasn’t really her style. Skye gave her a wilting look that confirmed her suspicions. “I just mean, if he’s making actual threats…”

“It’s fine,” Skye said flatly. “It’s not like that. I have it under control. He’s just a jerk, that’s all.” Her eyes didn’t meet Bobbi’s, and Bobbi had a sinking feeling that there was a lot more going on that Skye wasn’t saying. She was guarded, on the defensive.

“Still, maybe you should think about telling Jemma what’s going on. You guys share everything, and she’s… well, maybe not tougher than she looks, but I know you two have been through a lot together. You’re friends. She’d want to know if something was bothering you.” A knot twisted in Bobbi’s stomach at the hypocrisy of her own words, but she forced herself not to think about it too much. Skye’s situation was different. She and Jemma had known each other for years, they were inseparable. Bobbi didn’t have someone like that, who she was supposed to let in on everything.

“Maybe,” was all Skye would say. She still wasn’t looking at Bobbi, and Bobbi could tell that she had just about reached Skye’s limits. Pushing anymore now would just backfire.

“Hey,” Skye said abruptly, after another minute or two, “did you spend all the money that Phil gave you for the soccer game tonight?”

“No, why?” Bobbi was a little bewildered by both the dramatic change of subject and the brazenness of the question.

“Do you think I could borrow it? What you have left, I mean. I’d pay you back.” Skye looked up at her for real this time, slightly sheepish, but with a steely determination that Bobbi was coming to understand was the normal for Skye.

“Do I want to know what you need it for?” Bobbi arched an eyebrow in her best impression of May. It must have worked, because Skye shrank slightly. She shrugged.

“I need to spend it on something. For a… project I’m working on.”

“A school project?”

Skye didn’t say a word, but the look she shot Bobbi sent her message loud and clear: _“Come on, who do you think you’re talking to?”_

“Okay, so a personal project? Don’t you think you should be asking May or Phil about this?”

“There’s just something I have to do, okay? It’s not anything bad, I promise.” Bobbi tilted her head to one side, considering her options. The right thing to do would probably be to not give Skye the money, or at the very least, make her be honest about what she was going to spend it on. But it was only three dollars that she had left, and she didn’t think there was much that Skye could do with that.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs began to drift up towards them, and Skye’s face grew desperate.

“Bobbi, come on, please? It’s really important.” _Important. Important. Important._ There was something so earnest in Skye’s expression, something that made Bobbi want to believe her. She had never asked Bobbi for anything like that before, and for some reason, Bobbi found herself moved by Skye’s plea. Hurriedly, before she could change her mind, Bobbi dug the handful of ones that she had left from her change out of her pocket and forked them over to Skye.

“Don’t make me regret this, okay?” Bobbi said, staring hard into Skye’s face. Skye nodded, thanked her profusely, then turned to go. “And Skye?” Bobbi called out, before Skye had left the room completely. “I really do think you should talk to Jemma.”

* * *

If Bobbi had been smart, she would have asked more questions last night. If she had been more on top of things, she would have noticed the little ways in which Skye was acting differently at breakfast the next morning, not saying much, slipping a hand into her pocket more than once, like she was checking that something was still there. Instead, she hadn’t been smart, and she hadn’t been on top of things, and she had missed it all. She had chalked the odd behavior up to a roll-over of the bad mood Skye had been in yesterday. She realized her mistake when, as she was making her way towards fourth period history, Phil came rushing out the room, his face pale and his eyes a thousand miles away. He nearly barreled into her in his haste to leave the classroom.

“Phil, what’s wrong?” Bobbi asked, snakey coils of dread curling up in the pit of her stomach. It was like he didn’t even notice she was there.

“I… I just got a call from the school,” he said. “It’s Skye. She’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that a terrible place to end things? Perhaps. And while I am sorry for leaving you with such an egregious cliffhanger, I'm hoping you'll be comforted by the fact that the next chapter is already written, so you won't have long to wait :) Fingers crossed that I haven't driven you all away - I'm very grateful to you all for continuing to read (and put up with my cliffhangers)!


	38. The Best-Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of violence, injury

The plan had come to Skye almost fully formed once Ward had left the library yesterday afternoon. She wasn’t sure if it was his ominous threats that gave her the spark she needed, or the smiling faces of the doctors on her computer screen, or if it was simply something that had been planted deep within her years ago finally coming to bloom, but she understood what she had to do. The only way to stop being a burden to the people around her was to find the people who would never be burdened by her, and in order to do that, she had to get her hands on those hospital records.

Finding directions to Ames’ Memorial had been easy enough, thanks to a quick google search. She had found a map of bus routes after that and plotted her course to Sheboygan – one that would only require changing buses once and that should get her there in less than 45 minutes. She’d checked the bus fare rates ($1.50 one way for anyone under 12, and she was sure she could convince any bus driver that she was) and done the math to make sure that she could be there and back before anyone even noticed that she was gone. If she left once Phil had dropped her off at school, she would have plenty of time to spend at the hospital until catching the 1:15 bus back to Manitowoc and returning to school just in time for Flex Time.

Skye printed out her directions and folded them into as small a square as she could before shoving them deep into her pocket. She didn’t want anyone finding out or trying to stop her.

The afternoon had been tricky. As excited as she was about her brilliant plan, the things that Ward had sneered in her ear were still ringing around in her brain, and she couldn’t seem to shake them. She had tried to find out if Natasha had been behind it, but her brain was so jumbled she just kept rambling about all the times the nuns had made her go to confession. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to slip up and make a confession of her own, but she managed to keep her plan under wraps.

It had been a relief to know that Natasha was still trustworthy, even if the Raina piece only made her brain feel even more scrambled than before. She hadn’t planned on talking to Bobbi about the whole thing, but for some reason, it was easier to talk to her than anyone else in the house. Bobbi thought she should talk to Jemma, and Skye wanted to, desperately. She told Jemma everything, ran her best schemes by the girl who had always stood by her side, always believed her, always loved her, but something was jammed in her heart, damming up her feelings, keeping her from drowning Jemma in her churning waters of emotions and bad ideas.

The hardest part had been lying in bed that night, staring up at the stars that Jemma’s lamp cast onto the wall, knowing that Jemma was lying there awake, too, worried and wondering what to say. Skye hated to make Jemma worry, but she knew that worrying about her bad mood was a much better option for Jemma than worrying about Grant Ward coming after them and ruining their lives, so she kept it all to herself, even when Jemma’s small voice had invited her to talk under the cover of darkness.

“Skye, why won’t you talk to me? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“I know that’s not true. Did something happen? Did… did I do something wrong?” Jemma’s voice was fragile, like crystal fragments lying shattered on the floor. Guilt surged up in Skye.

“No, of course not,” she said. She propped herself up on one elbow. “Jemma, I could never be mad at you.”

“Well then what is it? If something’s wrong, we can figure it out.” Jemma the problem-solver. Jemma the cautious optimist. Skye didn’t want to take that away from her. She didn’t want Ward to take it away from her, either.

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Skye said, after a moment. “I… I have it under control. I have a plan.”

“A plan that I can’t know about? Come on, Skye, what’s really going on?”

“I’ll tell you later, I promise. But, please, don’t worry too much, okay? It was just a bad day, and tomorrow’s going to be better.”

“I suppose tomorrows usually are.”

* * *

Skye tried her best to act natural the next morning, but it was harder than she’d expected. Every time she tried to make conversation, the only thing that came to mind were the details of her plan that she was playing on repeat in her brain, so she decided to be on the safe side and not say much at all. Her folded up directions and the money she’d borrowed from Bobbi were shoved into her jeans pocket, and she couldn’t help but check that they were both still there every few minutes or so. The last thing she wanted was either piece falling out or getting picked up by someone else.

She had also woken up early and crafted an excuse note that was waiting to be delivered to Miss Hill, which was currently burning a hole in her other pocket. She knew from experience that if kids just didn’t show up to school, foster parents got called almost immediately, but she also knew that there was nothing like a doctor’s note to get you out with no questions asked.

It had taken her several tries to get the note right – her first attempts were in cursive, but she had never been good with the curly, mashed-together letters, so the handwriting came out looking loopy and childish. Once she switched to print, she tried her best to make it look like Phil had written it instead of a badly behaved eighth grader, and after crumpling up about 6 tries in the wastebasket, she had finally gotten one that seemed close enough.

Neither Phil nor May seemed to suspect that anything was out of the ordinary, and they both told her and Jemma to have a great day with their usual smiles. It felt so nice to be looked at the way they looked at her, like she had weight, like she mattered, like she was worth the effort of kindness. Skye prayed that her plan would work, so that she wouldn’t have to live in a world where May and Phil couldn’t find it in themselves to look at her like that. If everything went the way it was supposed to, no one would ever find out about her playing hooky, and she would find her parents and go live with them before May and Phil had a chance to realize that Skye didn’t deserve their smiles.

She walked across the blacktop with Jemma as normal, settling at the melted table and greeting Fitz. He was excited to talk about some new ideas he had for their plan to wind up Ward, but Skye found it hard to listen. Even just thinking about Ward made her feel queasy and anxious and angry.

When the first bell rang, signaling the time to start heading into the building, Skye didn’t join Jemma and Fitz as they stood up to go inside.

“Aren’t you coming, Skye?”

Skye winced. She had hoped that her friends would be too engrossed in their conversation to notice that she wasn’t right behind them. It wouldn’t have been the first time something like that had happened, but of course she wasn’t that lucky.

“I… uh,” Skye faltered. She hadn’t intended to fill anyone in on her plan. She didn’t want to ask Jemma to keep a secret like that.

“Is this about your plan?” Jemma asked suspiciously.

“Plan? What plan? A different plan than the plan we already have?” Fitz interjected. For as wary as Jemma looked, Fitz looked positively elated.

Caught, Skye let out a sigh of surrender. “Yes, okay, it’s about my plan. But it’s something I’m doing by myself, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’re really not going to tell us?” Fitz was crestfallen. “But we make such good plans…”

“This one’s already made, and nothing you say is going to stop me,” Skye said defiantly. She saw how Jemma’s eyes were narrowed. She knew Jemma could tell she was up to something unsavory. This was one of the reasons why she didn’t want to tell Jemma about the mission until it had been successfully completed.

“ _Should_ we be trying to stop you?” asked Jemma quietly. “Skye, you told me you weren’t going to get into trouble anymore.”

“And I’m not!” Skye protested. “Or, I won’t. I’m not going to get caught this time.”

“What is it you’re exactly planning on doing?” Jemma wanted to know.

“Jemma, I… I can’t tell you.” Skye felt horrible as the words came out of her mouth, but they were the truth. “I don’t want you to get mixed up in it. I don’t want you to have to lie if somebody asks you where I am.”

“Where you… Are you leaving?” The growing disapproval on Jemma’s face turned immediately to a stricken expression that was like a dagger to Skye’s heart. “Skye, you’re… running away? You’re leaving me here and you weren’t even going to tell me?”

“No!” The assurance flew out of Skye’s mouth, and she felt a lump gathering in her throat. This was all wrong. This wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go. “No, Jemma, of course not. I would never leave you if I didn’t have to. You mean more to me than anyone in the world.” Skye took Jemma’s trembling hand and gave it a squeeze. “You have to know that. You matter the most to me. You’ll always matter the most. And I’m not running away, I’m just going somewhere for the day. I’ll be back before school is over. No one will even know I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Fitz asked.

Skye shifted uncomfortably. They were approaching details, which Skye knew was where the danger lay. “If I don’t tell you, then you won’t have to lie for me.”

“But if you do tell us, we might be able to help,” Fitz countered. “We could cover for you, or give you pointers on your plan. I’m excellent at giving constructive feedback.” Skye raked her gaze across the blacktop. Most of the kids had already gone in. She was wasting time, and if she didn’t hurry, Fitz and Jemma would be late for homeroom.

“Skye, I don’t want to be worried about you all day,” Jemma said softly. “I… I won’t tell. I won’t say a word. Just tell us where you’re going, so I can know you’ll be safe.”

“Okay,” Skye said after a moment. Knowing that she was going to be telling Jemma and Fitz the truth, she suddenly felt calmer and lighter than she had since yesterday afternoon. Maybe Bobbi had been right – she did need to talk to Jemma. “So, May hasn’t found anything about my parents yet, and I haven’t found anything either, but part of that is because the hospital where I think I was born won’t let you look at any of their records unless you ask in person—”

“You’re going to Sheboygan?” Jemma’s jaw fell open. “Skye, that’s miles away.”

“How are you getting there?” Fitz’s nose was scrunched in confusion.

“I’m taking the bus.”

Jemma’s eyes were swimming with fear. “You can’t take the bus to Sheboygan all by yourself. It’s too dangerous. And what if you don’t make it back in time?”

“I will,” Skye said stubbornly. “I have it all planned out. And I can so take the bus to Sheboygan by myself. I’ve taken the bus before, it’s not hard.”

“Not to Sheboygan, though,” Jemma pointed out.

“I don’t have a lot of time to stand around discussing it,” Skye grumbled.

“Skye, I really don’t think you should do this. May said she was working on it. Can’t you just be patient?”

“No!” Skye burst. She took a deep breath to calm herself down. She had no reason to be upset with Jemma. “I can’t be patient. I can’t wait anymore. I’m too close, and after everything that Ward said—”

“Ward? When did you talk to Ward?” Fitz asked as Jemma’s face paled beside him. Skye scolded herself internally. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Yesterday, in the library. That’s not important right now—”

“Yes, it is.” Jemma was deadly serious. “If whatever Ward said is making you skip school and go all the way to Sheboygan, then it is important. And why didn’t you tell us he bothered you yesterday? Why are you keeping so many secrets from me?” Tears were collecting in Jemma’s eyes, and she was tapping hard against her hip. It wasn’t a quick, anxious tap, or a gentle soothing one. It was an angry tap that Skye had never seen before.

“I was going to tell you later, honest. I didn’t mean to keep things from you, I just… I didn’t want to worry you, and I thought if I waited until I’d taken care of it, then it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“You didn’t think I could handle it, did you?” Jemma asked quietly. She sounded so sad that Skye suddenly felt like she was about two inches tall.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you can handle stuff. You’ve handled more than you should ever have to. I just… I was trying to look out for you.”

“Did you ever think that I could look out for you, too? If Ward’s been bothering you, then you should have let us help you… you should have let _me_ help you.”

“Jemma, I know you can look out for me. I know you _do_ look out for me. Sometimes I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who does.” Skye felt her neck grow warm at the admission, but she forced herself to keep going. She owed Jemma a true apology. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have tried to keep things from you. I shouldn’t have underestimated you. Ward got in my head, and I made a mistake, and I… I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s okay, I… I understand,” Jemma told her. “What exactly did he say to you?”

The warning bell rang out, and Skye realized that they were the only ones left on the blacktop. She was really running out of time, now. “I don’t have time to tell you now, but I promise I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

“Wait, you’re not still going are you? Stay here, we can figure something else out—”

“I have to,” Skye said. “I have to look. I have to try.”

“They’ll notice you’re gone,” Fitz told her. He was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and Skye knew he was probably anxious to get inside. Fitz hated missing classes. “They call your parents if you cut class.”

“I made an excuse note,” Skye said, pulling it out of her pocket. “I don’t know if I’m going to have time to drop it off and catch my bus now, though.”

“I’ll take it,” Jemma said suddenly. Everyone looked stunned at her volunteering, including Jemma herself. “I’ll give it to Miss Hill. But Skye, you have to promise that you’re going to be safe, and that you’re going to be back in time.”

“Jemma, I—”

“I know this is important to you,” Jemma nodded. “So if being a part of your… bad girl shenanigans means I can help you, then… I’ll do it.” Skye wrapped Jemma into the tightest hug she could muster, blinking back tears.

“Thank you.”

“Come home safe, Skye. I mean it.”

Skye handed over the note, then took off across the blacktop and back out towards the street before any of them lost their nerve. Things might not have been going according to plan, but so far, they were working out okay.

* * *

The optimism fueling Skye after parting ways with Jemma and Fitz carried her to the bus stop and most of the way through the first leg of her journey. Not even the overcast sky above her could dampen her mood. The driver hadn’t questioned her when she got on, and hadn’t objected to her paying the 12 and under fare, which Skye took as good signs. She pulled her directions out of her pocket and watched as they passed the street signs listed on her route.

Things started to go downhill when she had to switch buses. The first bus had been a few minutes behind schedule, which meant that Skye was late for the next one. She was about fifty feet down the sidewalk from the stop she was supposed to wait at when bus number two pulled up, paused briefly, and then took off again before she’d even had a chance to chase after it. The crisp breeze that she had found bracing earlier in the day was starting to grow colder, and she was painfully bored and shivering slightly when the next bus arrived almost forty minutes later.

The next bump in the plan came when she realized she was going to have to pay the bus fare on this bus, too. She hadn’t thought about having to pay for her transfer, and had only brought enough money for one ticket each way. Still, finding the money to get home would be future Skye’s problem, she reasoned. She was too far now to turn around, anyway.

The rest of the bus ride was uneventful, filled with flat land and passing scenery comprised mostly of twisty trees that had nearly shed all their leaves. The grey sky was getting darker the further south they went, but Skye decided not to worry too much about the weather. Her attention would be much better spent focusing on getting to the hospital. Her directions that she’d printed out turned out to be a little outdated, so she was having trouble keeping track of which streets she’d passed already, and she nearly missed the stop outside of Ames’ Memorial entirely because she had been so focused on trying to figure out if she’d crossed over Mayflower, Main, or Martin Avenue. Fortunately, she looked up just in time to yank on the yellow cord to signal to the driver to stop, and scrambled out before anyone could ask her why a kid was taking a bus to the hospital by herself.

Despite it being the only real hospital in the area, Skye had never actually been to Ames’ Memorial before, with the possible exception of her birth. She was surprised to see that it didn’t look much like the hospitals she’d seen on TV, looking more like a squat, brick office building than a towering hub of glass windows and sleek architecture. Off to one side, there was a covered driveway with a sign that had the word “Emergency” stenciled on it in red, and to the other direction was a plainer-looking entrance that had its own sign – one that she had a little trouble reading because of the font choice, but that she eventually deciphered as saying “Wilfred M. Ames’ Memorial Hospital – Est. 1904.” Well, at least she was in the right place.

The inside of the hospital looked much more like what Skye had anticipated, with stark white lights, walls, and floors. Up at the front of the room was a reception desk, and the rest was set up like a waiting room. Uncomfortable-looking chairs covered in an ugly off-green vinyl lined the walls, and a dusty TV in the corner played a news channel on mute. One of the chairs was occupied by a snoring man with white hair, and another pair were filled by a young woman and a small toddler, who was squirming around to be let down.

Drawing herself up to her full height in an effort to make herself look older, Skye marched up to the reception desk and tried to send off an aura of confidence and self-assurance. She had learned from one of her former foster mothers, a woman who somehow always managed to get discounts at restaurants and convince cowering cashiers to take her expired coupons, that half the battle of getting what you wanted was acting like you had a right to it. Normally, Skye would be put off by that kind of entitled behavior, but today she needed to channel her inner-Mrs. Marshall.

“Can I help you, sweetie?” asked the woman behind the desk as Skye approached. There was something distrustful and disdainful in the woman’s voice, and Skye knew immediately that she didn’t like this woman one bit. “Are you lost? Looking for someone?”

“I’m here to see about some records,” Skye told her, making full eye contact. Her own voice didn’t come out sounding quite as bold as she had wanted it to, but the woman had set her off-kilter.

“Our records are private, sweetie,” the woman said slowly, like she was explaining something to the toddler writhing around in his mother’s lap instead of to Skye. The ‘sweetie’ was dripping with condescension that set Skye’s teeth on edge.

“I’m looking for something in particular,” Skye tried to explain. “Records of myself. The website said that records requests were done in person, so I’m here to request my records.”

“Hon, you’re what, twelve?”

“Thirteen,” Skye corrected her through gritted teeth.

“Either way, you’re still a minor. You’re not authorized to see any records.”

“But they’re about me—”

“It doesn’t matter. Maybe you should think about heading home. Or, for that matter, shouldn’t you be in school right about now?”

Fuming, Skye turned on her heel and stalked out of the waiting room before the woman could ask her anymore questions about why she wasn’t in school. She plopped down on the curb outside of the hospital and propped her chin on her fists. She needed a new plan. She had come too far to give up because of one obstinate receptionist.

The beginnings of a misty drizzle began to sprinkle onto Skye’s face and shoulders, and she looked around to see if there was somewhere she could go to get away from the impending rain. She thought about ducking under the covered driveway of the Emergency entrance, but the screeching arrival of an ambulance seconds later deterred her. She didn’t want to get in the way if someone was coming in for help.

As the EMTs hopped out of the cab and started bustling around in the back of the ambulance, Skye felt a nervous twinge in the pit of her stomach. She really didn’t want to see somebody who might be sick or hurt badly enough that they needed an ambulance. She turned her head away and tried to ignore the sounds of medical terminology being called out and the wheels of a gurney hitting the pavement, but she was having a hard time blocking it out.

“Are you all right?” A man’s voice interrupted Skye’s thoughts, and she jumped. She hadn’t realized anyone was there.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized. He was a white man with a shaggy mop of brown hair, and he looked to be around Phil’s age. He was wearing a baggy brown suit, and his tie was crooked, just like his sympathetic smile.

“It’s fine,” Skye said. She didn’t say anything more – she knew better than to talk to strangers, especially when she was doing something she shouldn’t have been.

“Any particular reason you’re sitting out here in the rain?” he asked. _So he was a_ snoopy _grownup_ , Skye thought. The best strategy for a grownup fishing for answers was to make it as difficult as you could, in her opinion. If you put up enough resistance, eventually a nosy grownup would decide you weren’t worth their time or energy.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Skye retorted. To her surprise, the man laughed.

“Well aren’t you a spitfire?” he chortled. Something about his laugh made Skye feel like ants were crawling up her arms and legs. His laugh wasn’t warm or comforting like Phil’s at all. “I live around here. I wanted to make sure my… friend made it to the hospital okay.” He inclined his head over to the unloading ambulance. Skye felt the blood drain out of her face.

“That’s your friend? I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I hope they’ll be okay.”

“Oh, I think so,” the man mused, tilting his head to one side. “He only has a few minor stab wounds to the torso. Flesh wounds, really. He’ll be patched up in no time.” Something sickly and sour was bubbling up in Skye’s throat at the idea of someone bleeding only a few feet from her. The man didn’t seem especially bothered by the fact that his friend had been stabbed, either, which Skye found deeply unsettling. She stood up, suddenly, filled with an overwhelming need to get away from him.

“I guess I should go back inside. I’m… supposed to meet my mom,” she lied quickly, moving towards the front door.

“You know, you remind me of someone I used to know,” the man told her, his pale brown eyes boring into her face. “What’s your name?”

“I really should go,” Skye said. “My mom’s waiting.”

“Of course, of course,” agreed the man, shooing her away. “I’d hate to keep a girl from her mother.”

“I hope your friend feels better,” Skye called over her shoulder, before ducking back inside the waiting room and out of the odd man’s sight.

* * *

The receptionist raised an eyebrow at Skye when she came back in, but thankfully didn’t say a word. She was distracted by the toddler, who was howling to be put down. He thrashed around in his mother’s arms, until he managed to slip from her grasp and take off like a shot across the waiting room.

The boy’s mother and the receptionist both leaped up, trying to corral the whirlwind that was the little boy. He raced around the room, ripping pages out of the outdated magazines and knocking over the potted plants that populated the nooks and crannies of the waiting room. His mother was apologizing profusely as she chased after him, and the receptionist kept calling for him to behave.

In the midst of the chaos, Skye was struck with a brilliant idea, and she slowly inched her way back to the door behind the receptionist’s desk that she assumed led to the rest of the hospital. She double-checked that the two women were still preoccupied with the toddler, who was shrieking with glee at his own antics, then eased the door open and slipped behind it before anyone could spot her.

Beyond the door, Skye found herself in a labyrinth of corridors. The hallways were generally quiet, aside from a few drifting voices of people she assumed were doctors and nurses, and the occasional announcement over the intercom system calling for “Dr. So-and-So to the OR.” Skye knew better than to linger where the receptionist could spot her if she checked behind the door, so she quickly picked a direction and took off. She wove her way down a hall that seemed to house patient rooms, since all of the doors were shut and had numbers and a bunch of ID markers on the walls outside of them. Skye didn’t linger here – she wasn’t interested in stumbling across a patient, or worse, an employee of the hospital.

Eventually she found some signs on the wall that gave her a sense of where she was. There were arrows pointing to the ICU, Labor and Delivery, Radiology, and a host of other “-ologies” that Skye couldn’t read. At the very bottom of the sign, however, was a word she could read – one that released a flurry of excitement in her chest: Records.

Skye took off in the direction of the Records arrow, and managed to avoid being stopped by anyone. One nurse who passed her by gave her an odd look, but Skye just kept walking and tried to look like she belonged there. The trick seemed to work, and soon Skye was standing outside of a plain white door with a sign reading “Records” affixed to the wall right beside it. Something told Skye that she shouldn’t just go barging into a room behind a closed door, especially since she probably wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place, so instead, she reached out a hand and knocked.

After a moment, the surprised face of a middle-aged woman with soft features and gentle lines creasing around her eyes and mouth poked out from behind the door.

“Can I help you, honey? Are you lost?” Despite the question being remarkably similar to the one the receptionist in the waiting room had asked, this woman’s tone was much kinder, and Skye felt like she might actually want to help, instead of just shooing Skye out of the way.

“No, I’m not lost,” Skye said. “I’m here to ask about some records.”

“Oh.” The woman’s face fell slightly. “I don’t usually get visitors over here. Usually it’s only staff who come to access records. Are you sure—”

“The woman out front said I could,” Skye lied quickly. “She sent me back here to find you, actually.”

“Oh,” the woman repeated. “Well, I guess if Francine sent you… Come on in, then.” The woman pushed the door open the rest of the way and gestured for Skye to follow her. “I’m Nora,” she told Skye with a shy smile. “What’s your name?”

“Skye.”

“How pretty,” Nora smiled more broadly. “If I ever had a daughter, I would have loved to have given her a name as nice as yours. I just love names, don’t you? That’s one of my favorite things about working in records, you know, getting to see all the nice names that come through.” She was rambling slightly, and Skye got the impression that Nora often didn’t have many people to talk to during the day.

The records room was small and somewhat cramped, although Nora had worked hard to make it cozy, it seemed. The pens on the desk were all different colors, and there were some crayon drawings tacked up on the wall. Her desk had framed photographs of a dog and a cat, plus one of a teenage boy grinning as he held up a big fish on a pole.

“That’s Bootsy and Muffin, and my Jeremy,” Nora said, noticing Skye’s gaze on the photos. “He’s a good boy, just started college this year.”

“He looks nice,” Skye nodded. So far Nora seemed nice, too, and Skye was more than happy to stay in the woman’s good graces.

“So, what can I help you with, Skye?” Nora asked, taking her seat at the desk. She shuffled some of the loose papers that were scattered across the top and tucked them into a manila folder labeled “To Be Filed.”

“Well, I’m working on this project for school,” Skye began. Being honest had not gotten her very far with the receptionist before, and although Nora seemed much more likely to help, Skye got the sense from her timid demeanor that she was probably a rule-follower, which meant she likely wouldn’t just hand over everything she had on file. “It’s for my math class. We’re doing statistics, and we each got assigned a different real-world example to show us how we can use math in our real life.” She was spinning quite a web, and she wasn’t exactly sure where the lie was coming from, but Skye wasn’t about to turn down the story that had popped into her head.

“Oh, we used to ask that all the time,” Nora chuckled. “I had this teacher in high school, Mr. Gerber, I think, and his face would turn into a real prune when we asked him if the math we were learning would matter in real life. I don’t use it much anymore, I’m afraid, but my Jeremy, he’s going to be an engineer. He does all sorts of things with those numbers.”

“You have to be really smart to be an engineer,” Skye agreed. She didn’t want to interrupt Nora, but she was anxious about getting too far off topic.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted. Tell me about this project of yours.”

“So, I got assigned birth rates,” Skye plowed ahead. Her cover story was coming together, much to her delight. “And my teacher gave me a specific time frame to look at, and I’m supposed to find all this stuff on how many babies were born here, and if they were boys or girls, and who their parents were and all that. I tried to ask about it out front, but the lady up there said she couldn’t help me, so I came back here to find you.”

“Well,” Nora said, looking thoughtful. “Some of our more personal information is kind of restricted, and I’d have to get my boss’s permission to show you all of that. You know, family and patient details and things like that. But I don’t see why I couldn’t show you the birth records that we keep on file for the county. That should have the kind of information you’re looking for without giving too much away.” It wasn’t exactly what Skye had been hoping to hear, but it was at least a start.

“That would be great,” Skye smiled. She told Nora the dates she was looking for, and the woman disappeared behind a row of filing cabinets. A few minutes later, she returned, bearing a thick folder.

“Here’s what I have from May, June, and July,” she said happily. She plunked the folder down on her desk. “You’re welcome to stay in here and look them over. I have an extra chair.” Skye spied a spindly folding chair off in the corner. She had missed it the first time around, since it was buried under a mountain of file folders.

“Well, I’ll have an extra chair in just a minute,” Nora said sheepishly. She hurriedly shoved the folders to the floor and under the chair. “I do most of my permanent filing on Fridays,” she explained, “so they kind of build up over the week.”

Skye thanked her for the chair and took the folder with a delicate touch. She had to work hard to keep her hands from shaking, and for a minute, she almost forgot to breathe. She had never been closer.

The files inside the folder were some of the most complicated-looking documents Skye had ever encountered in her life. There were strings of numbers and shorthand codes in lots of little boxes that she assumed meant plenty to the hospital staff, but meant absolutely nothing to her. She swung her eyes down to the bottom of the first page, and managed to find something that at least read like plain English to her.

“ _McBride. Twin girls. ID LDB M129 and ID LDB M130. May 1, 12:01 am and 12:13 am.”_

Something hitched in Skye’s chest. If this was the kind of thing that was on every page in the folder, she was about to have one more piece of information. The files didn’t seem to record the babies’ names, unfortunately, only their ID numbers, but the last name, at least, was there in black and white. She cocked her head at the word “twins,” and realized she had never considered the possibility of having a long-lost twin sister in addition to her missing parents. Something flopped around in her belly, and she wasn’t sure if the idea filled her with elation or apprehension. It would be amazing to find a twin sister along with some parents, but she wasn’t sure how she would feel if her parents had kept her twin, but not her.

Skye spent the next hour combing through nearly 200 pages of births. She set aside all of the pages from after the 4th of July, and she didn’t linger on the pages that listed baby boys, which narrowed her search considerably, but still left her with more names to sift through than she had imagined. As exciting as it was to know that one of the names she was holding in her hands might be the last name of her mother and father, might be _her_ last name, she couldn’t help but feel the murky swellings of dismay that she had no real idea of how to determine which one was hers.

Faced with a tough call, Skye decided to rule out any of the files with mentions of twins, and the one single one that listed triplets. She didn’t have any real reason to make the decision, except that something in her gut told her it was the right one. Maybe it was just the part of her that desperately wanted to believe that her parents hadn’t decided to keep only one of their children and that she had been the unlucky one. That got her down to just under 70 pages.

Heart racing, Skye twisted around and started rummaging around in her backpack, which she had set on the floor beside once she’d sat down to look at the files. She pulled out a notebook and a stub of a pencil and began to scribble down the names on those 70 pages as fast as she could. _Holiday, Moss, Huang, Beacham, Johnson, Reyes, Clark, Nadir…_ the list went on. She made it through about 20 before she realized, with a sinking in the pit of her stomach, just how many names she was going to have to write down. Her hand ached and her handwriting grew worse and worse as she rushed to copy out each of the potential surnames before Nora could realize what she was doing. Skye had no idea if she was allowed to write down the names like that, but she wasn’t planning on getting spotted before she had what she needed, just in case.

After what felt like an eternity, just as Skye finished writing the last name on her list ( _Wexler_ ), Nora looked up from her own work and glanced over to check on her.

“Finding what you need, honey?”

“I guess so,” Skye shrugged, massaging her hand. “Unless you have anything else I can look at? Anything with more information about some of these people that I’m including in my… project.”

“I can ask my boss, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say no,” Nora said apologetically. “Those are the kinds of records that people have to check out, grownups, you know. And they have to be the people in question, usually. Mr. Malick is very protective of our patients’ personal information.”

“I understand.” Skye hoped she had masked her disappointment well, but suspected by the pitying look on Nora’s face that she had not.

“I’m sorry, Skye. I hope there was enough information in the files I could give you for you to do your project.”

“No, it’s okay,” Skye said quickly. “This was great. I think I can… I mean, my teacher will be happy, I think.”

“Wonderful.” Nora stood up then, and Skye copied her, shoving her notebook back into her backpack and collecting her things up. “Well, Skye, I think I’m going to take my lunch break now. Can I walk you back out to the front? Is someone waiting for you out there?”

“Oh, my mom’s going to pick me up,” Skye fibbed, not missing a beat. Nora nodded.

“Okay, great. Well, it was really nice to meet you, Skye.”

“It was nice to meet you, too,” Skye smiled. “Thanks again for all your help.”

“My pleasure.” Nora opened the door, and the two of them stepped back out into the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway. Skye had to blink a few times to get her eyes to adjust. She waved goodbye to Nora, then set off back down the hallway she had originally come from, hoping that she would be able to retrace her steps without too much trouble.

She had made it about half of the way back when a voice rang out and stopped her cold in her tracks.

“Hey! You there! You’re not supposed to be back here!” Skye wheeled around and, to her horror, found herself face to face with the grouchy receptionist from earlier. If she had looked exasperated with Skye the first time they had met, she looked positively livid now. “I thought I told you to leave hours ago.”

Skye opened her mouth to try and explain, to find some way to talk herself out of the mess she had just stumbled into, but the receptionist wasn’t interested. She took one look at Skye, then noticed the direction she was coming from, and her expression soured.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” the woman glowered. She closed the distance between them with just a few, terse steps, and wrapped Skye’s upper arm up in a tight grasp. Her fingernails dug into Skye’s arm just a little too much, and Skye let out an involuntary whimper. It was a position she had been in before, and painful memories of being yanked around, pinched, and prodded by short-tempered foster mothers flooded her mind before she had a chance to push them back.

“I’m not falling for the waterworks, kid.” The receptionist began pulling Skye down the hallway and towards the door that led back out to the waiting room. “You need to leave, now, and if I catch you back in here, I’m calling the cops, got it?” Skye squirmed against the woman’s grip, but it was too tight, and the woman was walking too quickly for Skye to have a chance to plant her feet and put up any kind of resistance.

The receptionist marched her back out through the waiting room and sent her stumbling through the front door and out to the sidewalk.

“I mean it,” she warned. “Next time I see you, I’m hitting speed dial.”

* * *

It took Skye a minute to get her bearings once the door to the hospital had been slammed behind her. The sky overhead was still ominous and dark, so she couldn’t tell how much time had passed from the position of the sun. A growl of thunder rolled like a wave across the world, making the hairs on the back of Skye’s neck stand up. The misty drizzle that she had been sitting in earlier had turned into light sprinkling, but Skye figured that wouldn’t hold for long. The clouds above her were almost black they were so heavy with looming rain.

She fished her paper with the directions to get home out of her pocket and tried to orient herself. She knew that she had to find a different bus stop than the one she had gotten off at, since she needed to be going in the opposite direction. The letters and lines on the map were starting to swim in front of her eyes, jumbling around until they didn’t make a lick of sense. Skye tried to take a deep breath. Now was not the time for her stupid brain to stop working. She squeezed her eyes shut until she adjusted to the darkness behind them, then reopened them in an attempt to reboot herself. Fortunately, the letters stopped dancing quite so forcefully, and she was able to pick out the name of the street where her new stop was.

It took her a little while to find the right street, but once she located it, it was easy to spot the bus stop sign. There wasn’t a bench or a covering at this stop like there was at the one outside the hospital, so Skye settled for sitting on the curb. While she waited, she took the opportunity to pull her notebook back out of her backpack and study the lengthy list of surnames that she had collected from the records. There were so many names, and none of them meant anything to her. She stared at the page, hoping that one would jump out, would hit her like a bolt of lightning when she recognized it as her own, but nothing of the sort happened. After all that, she still knew next to nothing about who she was.

Tears of frustration pricked in the corners of her eyes. This wasn’t how the plan was supposed to have gone. The brief excitement she had once felt in reading the names on the files had drained away completely, replaced instead by a bitter seed of anger and a thousand roaring questions. Why was it so hard to find them? Why was every turn a dead end? Why did she even have to look in the first place? Why hadn’t they wanted her?

Another clap of thunder shook the sky, and the rain began falling faster, fat drops plunking down around her and staining the sidewalk as their water seeped out into the cracks of the pavement. Skye hastily shoved the notebook back into her backpack. As futile as the list felt, she still didn’t want it getting ruined in the rain.

A momentary glimmer of hope perked up inside of her when she caught the rumbling sound of an approaching bus, but it was almost immediately strangled by the horrible realization that she didn’t have any more money to pay for her ticket home. She had foolishly considered the matter of money to be future Skye’s problem, but now that future Skye was present Skye, she was incredibly angry with past Skye for being so careless. The bus pulled up at the stop and swung its doors open with a rubbery _thwap_ , but Skye didn’t move.

“Getting on, kid?” the driver called. Skye hesitated, wondering if she could convince the driver to let her ride for free, then shook her head. The driver shrugged and closed the doors in her face.

“Stay dry, okay?” he called as the doors sealed themselves. Then, just like that, the bus pulled away with a hiss, and Skye was all alone again.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and tucked her quivering chin in between them. It was raining harder now, and the chill of the rain was starting to set in her bones. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t go back to the hospital to wait out the rain or use the phone, because the lady in the waiting room had said she would call the police on her. She couldn’t go home because she had no money. For a moment, she considered walking around the streets of Sheboygan until she managed to find her way back to St. Agnes, but the dread that erupted in her stomach at the thought of showing up on the nuns’ doorstep like a bedraggled puppy with its tail between its legs rid her of that notion just as soon as it had come.

This had been such a stupid plan, she realized. She never should have tried to do something as reckless as this. Jemma had told her so. Jemma had been right. Skye’s heart clenched at the thought of Jemma, sitting in a dry and warm classroom, waiting and waiting for Skye to return, without a clue why Skye hadn’t come back. She had let Jemma down, had made her an accomplice in her ridiculous plan, and for what? A useless couple of pages of notebook paper filled with 70 random last names that meant nothing? Skye started to cry for real, then, the weight of her situation fully hitting her, starting to crush her slowly from the inside out. Tears streamed down her face, swirling around with the rivulets of rainwater that were tracking across her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Her teeth chattered. She might as well just curl up here on the pavement and let the torrential rain just sweep her away.

She wasn’t sure if she’d been sitting there crying for three minutes or thirty when the sudden flash of headlights interrupted Skye’s spiraling thoughts. She squinted past the rain and into the brightness. Maybe it was someone who could help. Maybe she could hitchhike, or ask for money for the bus. The car slowed to a stop in front of her, and Skye realized that she recognized it. The window rolled down, revealing the gut-wrenchingly unreadable and stony face of Melinda May behind the wheel.

“Skye, get in the car, please. We’re going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the wait wasn't too bad! And now we know Skye's safe, at least... the rest remains to be seen :)


	39. Tattletale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for ableism, meltdown/sensory overload, brief mention of abuse

The key to a successful day, in Jemma’s opinion, was preparation. If everything was planned – organized and labeled, listed and scheduled – then there would be no surprises. If there were no surprises, then there would be nothing to handle that she wasn’t already equipped to take on. Jemma knew that this rarely happened, of course. The nature of the universe was carved from chaos billions of years before she had taken her first breath, so it wasn’t hard to understand that the world around her didn’t follow the same rigid structure that she tried to maintain. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try.

And it wasn’t all chaos. Plenty of things in the universe followed rules and laws as strict as the ones she created for herself. The Earth orbited around the sun at the same rate year after year, and would until the sun collapsed in on itself. The tides bent to the will of the moon month after month. A butterfly would always begin its life as a caterpillar. Energy could never be created or destroyed, only transformed. Jemma loved to think about the unspoken rules of the universe, big and small. It made her feel safe to know that not everything in existence bowed only to chaos.

She didn’t consider herself a controlling person. She had long ago accepted that her ability to impact things beyond herself was limited. But the things that she could control – the things that were within her grasp – those things she liked to be prepared for. It was why she started each day with a list of the things she was going to do: 1. Wake up. 2. Dress. 3. Brush teeth. 4. Go downstairs. 5. Eat breakfast. Number 5 was split into subcategories, as eating breakfast first required fixing breakfast, then waiting for the cereal to reach the right texture, then eating, not too fast and without scraping the spoon against the side of the bowl, and no drinking the milk in the bowl once the cereal was gone, either. 6. Gather things for school. 7. Go to the car. 8. Go to school. 9. Meet Fitz. 10. Go to class.

Those ten things were always the same now, at least on school mornings. She had a different list for weekends. Not being a wholly unreasonable person, Jemma allowed for variation within the list – unanticipated conversations with Skye that cut in between 2 and 3, for example, or adding an addendum to 6 if someone was having trouble finding something they needed before they left. But the basic structure remained the same. School was like that too, although it wasn’t Jemma who set the schedule there. She went to the same classes in the same order, saw the same people at the same times. She knew some people might find it tedious to live the same day over and over again, but Jemma didn’t mind. The conversations were different each day, and the information she learned in class was different, too, so things didn’t get boring. Besides, she liked knowing what to expect.

Some of the places she had lived had been full of unexpected things. Foster parents who wanted you to act a certain way one day, only to shout at you when you did it the same way a few days later. Foster siblings who took your things or hid them so that you had to make an addendum on the list to find them. Noises or smells or lights that were too loud or strong or bright and made it so you couldn’t keep moving on your list until you were able to make them go away. Living with Phil and May wasn’t like that. Things were calm and soft in their house, and whenever something was going to be different about the day, they always made sure to tell her ahead of time.

They hadn’t known that today was going to be a different kind of day. Jemma hadn’t known either, when she woke up, that her list for the day was going to be completely derailed between steps 9 and 10, but that was exactly what had happened.

She knew something had been bothering Skye since the afternoon before. Skye had come back from Flex Time sullen and short-tempered, and had stayed that way for almost the entire rest of the afternoon and evening. Jemma had weathered plenty of bad moods from Skye over the years that they had been friends – Skye liked to seem like she was tough and brave and immune to having her feelings hurt, but Jemma knew that she wasn’t really like that.

When it was just the two of them, Skye would tell her the truth. She would uncover the aches and bruises on her heart and let Jemma try to patch them up. Jemma liked to be the one to heal and to fix. She liked being able to help put something back together, to watch the body or the soul knit its parts back into a whole. Skye would tell her about the things she was afraid of, the words that hurt her feelings, the things that made her angry, and Jemma would listen and take them all in, holding as much of it as she could for Skye before things started sloshing over the sides of the pitcher.

Skye did that for Jemma, too, the times that Jemma wanted to talk. Skye could hold Jemma’s feelings, even if Jemma couldn’t find the words to speak them. Jemma didn’t like to talk, sometimes. Sometimes there was nothing but an empty space in her lungs and larynx, even if there were thousands of words coursing around in her brain. Sometimes, it was just easier to keep words tucked away in her head than to try and force them out into the open. Once words were said, they couldn’t be undone, and the things that got lost in translation never came back. The wrong phrasing you picked, or the awkward word choice, or the incorrect tone you used, all of it just sat there, hanging heavy in the air, and then everybody knew that you weren’t like them. You didn’t fit in. You didn’t belong.

That never happened with Skye, though. Skye waited for her to tinker and tailor with the words, to nip and tuck at the sentences until they came out with the precision of language that Jemma wanted. Skye didn’t laugh or get upset or misunderstand when the words came out wrong, either, just like how Jemma never made Skye feel badly for messing up her reading or for not being able to control her temper. It was one of the reasons why they made such a good team. A symbiotic relationship. Mutually beneficial.

That was why Jemma had been so worried by Skye’s unhappiness yesterday. Usually if something was bothering Skye, she would find a time to tell Jemma, to share the burden, but hours and hours had ticked by (Jemma had counted them) and Skye hadn’t said a word. Even when Jemma asked at night, when the lights were out and the pressure of saying the right thing was lessened, Skye had been evasive. Jemma tried not to worry, but worrying was one of the things she was best at.

She didn’t stop worrying the next morning, and even added extra numbers to her list to make time for it. 1. Wake up. 1.5. Worry about Skye. 2. Dress. 2.5. Worry about Skye. And so on. She didn’t want to see Skye do something that would get her hurt, or that would get her into trouble, but those were the types of things that often happened when Skye got upset.

The truth had come out on the blacktop after the bell had rung and they were supposed to be going inside. Jemma had wanted to go inside – that was where they were supposed to be, and she didn’t like to be late. That felt like breaking the rules, and being late meant you had to deal with the horrible moment of coming into a room while everyone watched, each set of eyes staring and reminding you that you were late and late was bad, bad, bad. But she had wanted to help Skye more, so she waited as Skye finally started to tell her everything.

Telling everything was good, because it meant Skye was being honest, which Jemma appreciated, but it was also bad, because it meant Skye said things that hurt her feelings. She knew Skye didn’t mean them. Skye didn’t really think that she couldn’t handle things, or that she needed to be looked after all the time, but Jemma knew that Skye couldn’t help herself sometimes. Skye liked to be in charge, liked to be the strong one, the protector. Normally Jemma was more than happy to let her be that, especially when Skye understood that they could both be strong and both be protectors, just in different ways. Skye was the out-loud strong, the protector from other people. Jemma was the quiet- inside strong, the protector from themselves. Sometime Skye forgot, though, and that was when she said things that hurt. It didn’t matter so much, not really. She always apologized, and she always meant the apology more than she meant the thing she was apologizing for, so Jemma never took it to heart. People said things they didn’t mean all the time. It was one of the reasons why Jemma didn’t like to speak so much. She wanted to mean the things she said.

Telling everything also meant that Skye shared her plan – a plan which Jemma thought was far too dangerous to be worth the trouble. They had been lucky when Skye had gotten caught looking through May’s files on the computer. That had been a bad day. There had been a lot of worrying on that day. In a different house, Skye would have been sent back for doing something like that, or sent to jail, or punished in a painful way. They were lucky that May and Phil weren’t like the others. Jemma wasn’t sure how much longer they could be lucky for if Skye kept breaking rules left and right.

Still, she knew how important it was to Skye to find her parents. That was one of the things that they talked about in the late nights, when only the stars could overhear their conversations – if stars had ears, of course. Skye desperately wanted to know where she came from, where she belonged. Jemma understood in some ways. When she had lived with her parents, Jemma had belonged. Her father taught her about the stars and her mother read her wonderful stories with plucky heroines and happy endings. They were three parts of a whole. After they were gone, Jemma felt hollowed out. She was the only 33.333% remaining of her family, and no amount of infinitely repeating threes in her percentage would ever fill it up to whole again. She imagined that was how Skye felt when she thought about her own parents, only Skye had never known what it felt like when things were filled to 100%.

Sometimes Jemma thought that maybe she and Skye could fit together themselves and make a new whole. Her 33% mixed with Skye’s 33% to create a solution that looked like 66% to some people, but felt like 100% to them. If you altered your understanding of what a whole looked like, then something that was 2/3 of one whole could technically be considered a whole in its own right. You just had to change your scale. Sometimes, it seemed like Skye could see what Jemma saw, but other times, the math went over her head, and all she could see was the missing pieces.

That was why, Jemma figured, after everything had unfurled around her and derailed her day’s plan, she had agreed to help. She could see that Skye was stuck on the missing pieces, and she wanted to help her find them, or at least, to get unstuck from them. Jemma knew what it was like to feel stuck on the things that made you feel bad.

Watching Skye tear across the blacktop after handing over the forged excuse note, Jemma was struck by the shift she saw in her best friend. Skye had always been bold and exuberant, but there was a new kind of fire radiating outwards from her, a determination that Jemma normally only caught glimpses of. Jemma liked to think of people in terms of stars sometimes, and while she usually considered Skye to be like a T Tauri star – one that was still in an early stage of evolution but had great potential to become something luminous and resplendent – there were times where she feared Skye was verging more towards a supergiant, a star that burned too bright and hot to sustain itself for long before it detonated into a supernova. The Skye that had just vanished from sight was definitely acting like Supergiant Skye instead of T Tauri Skye.

“Do you think she’ll make it?” Fitz asked, as they walked shoulder to shoulder into the school, Skye’s note clutched tightly in Jemma’s tense fingers.

“She has to,” Jemma said quietly. “She’ll make it because there’s no other choice but to make it. That’s just how she is.” Jemma wanted to believe that more than anything, and she hoped that saying out loud would make it come true.

“You’re right, Skye’s stubborn,” nodded Fitz. “I wonder what she’ll find…”

“Hopefully everything she’s looking for. Then she won’t have to look anymore.”

They reached the door to Miss Hill’s room, and Jemma felt her throat tighten. Her chest constricted and it felt like someone had stuffed cotton in her ears. Her arm ached, telling her to tap, to release some of the pressure that was building up before she exploded like a bottle rocket. _1-2-3. 1-2-3. No, too fast. Pick a calmer tempo. 1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. Better._

“Fitz,” she managed to choke out. “I don’t think I can—”

“You can,” he said kindly, seriously. “Skye’s counting on you. You can do it. Think of it like the atomic spies. Skye’s on a mission, and you’re keeping her from getting discovered. Klaus Fuchs—”

“—was arrested for espionage and stripped of his British citizenship,” Jemma breathed.

“Well, yes, but he also was a brilliant physicist who helped share scientific data,” Fitz added. “Okay, fine, not a great example,” he conceded, sensing that the parallel had done nothing to make Jemma feel better. “What about a space mission, then? Skye’s your astronaut, and you’re mission control. You have to keep things running on the ground so that she has a safe reentry.”

“Mission control,” echoed Jemma. Mission control she could work with. She unfolded the note that Skye had given her to pass to Miss Hill and grimaced. The handwriting was better than Skye’s usual penmanship, but it was clearly not the work of an adult. The word “appointment” was misspelled, too. Only 1 “p.”

“I don’t think this is going to work,” she told Fitz. She showed him the note and Fitz’s face curdled into embarrassed incredulity. Jemma could tell that Fitz was already thinking of a hundred different ways that he could have improved Skye’s plan if he’d been allowed to help make it ahead of time. If she was being honest, she was doing the same thing.

“Well, we don’t have time to make another one,” he hissed as Miss Hill stepped out into the hall, looking around for stragglers.

“Leo, Jemma, hurry up and come inside. The bell’s about to ring.” She waited for them to pass by her and through the doorway into the classroom, then asked the question Jemma had been wanting to avoid. “Jemma, where’s Skye?”

“She…” Something knotted up in Jemma’s throat, something she couldn’t name. Fear, maybe, or guilt, or just her own body refusing to let her lie so blatantly to a teacher she liked and respected. Behind her, Fitz nudged her softly with his shoulder. _1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. Breathe in. Be calm._ “She’s not coming today.” That wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t give away Skye’s secret, either. It wasn’t the plan that Skye had made, but it was the best Jemma could muster in the moment.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miss Hill said sympathetically. She looked sorry, too. “Is she not feeling well?” You could say that, Jemma supposed. She didn’t have the words to confirm or deny Miss Hill’s assumption. _1-2-3-4. Do something. She’s waiting for an answer._ Jemma shrugged.

“She’s got a note,” Fitz said helpfully. Or, trying to be helpful. Skye’s plan might not be the best, but it was all they had to work with at the moment. Fitz, her Blue Giant of a star. Blue Giants were rare and highly evolved stars that burned brightly and colored the space around them. Jemma had never known anyone who understood her as well as Fitz, or as effortlessly. Even Skye, who Jemma had shared so much of her life with, had to work to understand her sometimes. She always put in the work, which was why Jemma trusted her so deeply, but Fitz just seemed to get her. Rare, bright, and blue, like his eyes, which were prompting her to show Miss Hill the note. Reflexively, Jemma held out the piece of paper in her hand, and Miss Hill took it.

“Okay, well, why don’t you two go and have a seat before the announcements start,” Miss Hill said slowly. She was studying the note intensely, and Jemma felt something like a pancake flip around in her stomach. _1-2-3-4. No, not fast enough. More nervous. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. 1-2-3._

Jemma couldn’t pay attention to the announcements that crackled over the intercom. She was too busy watching Miss Hill intently. Her teacher took out the attendance sheet that she filled out each morning in homeroom and began to make notes on it. Jemma could tell by her hands that she was writing more than usual, but she couldn’t see what was being jotted down. Miss Hill selected a paper clip (a red one – not a reassuring color) and attached Skye’s note to the attendance sheet, then folded the papers up and dropped them in the mail tray just outside the classroom door for the office workers to come by and pick up during first period.

Jemma had seen Miss Hill do this plenty of times. In fact, it was so routine that Jemma could have included it in her “things that happen at school” list if she’d wanted to. She usually left it off, since she wasn’t the one doing it. Something was different about the way Miss Hill was acting, however. She seemed more serious, grim almost, as she dropped the sheet off in the hallway. The muscles in Jemma’s arm tightened and she sped up her tapping. _1-2-1-2-1-2._ This was all wrong. Something bad was happening, she was sure.

“She’s probably just letting the office know that Skye’s absent,” Fitz muttered in her ear. “She put the note in there for proof so the office doesn’t have to call your foster parents. It’s okay. This is how the plan was supposed to go.”

Everything was tight, too tight. Her arm, her throat, her stomach, her clothes rubbing against her skin. They were going to get caught. She had told a lie, and Skye had skipped school, and this was bad, bad, bad.

“This is wrong, Fitz,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut momentarily. “They know something’s gone wrong. That note wasn’t any good.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Fitz agreed. He reached over and started drumming his own pointer finger on her desktop, matching her own rhythm perfectly. It didn’t hurt to breathe anymore. She tilted her head up, and met Fitz’s eyes for a second. Blue Giant. “But it was all we had. And there’s always the possibility that the office won’t examine it too closely. They probably have better things to do than run handwriting analysis.” He smiled then, tittering a little at his own joke. Jemma couldn’t make herself smile back, but she slowed her tapping back to _1-2-3_. Fitz matched her tempo again.

“She’s coming back,” Jemma said to herself. “She’s coming back and then everything will be fine again.”

“5 hours, 55 minutes, and 11 seconds,” Fitz remarked. “That’s not so long to wait.”

“21,311 seconds,” nodded Jemma. She fought the urge to start counting them down right then and there. Tapping would have to do for now. She would drive herself mad if she counted 21,311, -10, -9 seconds, she thought.

The bell rang, and it was too loud. She could feel the sound of it in her teeth, and she didn’t like the taste. Somehow she floated to History class, trailing behind Fitz down the corridor. She didn’t look at Miss Hill as they passed her on the way out. Jemma was sure her guilt was plastered all over her face.

Trip had wanted to know where Skye was, but Jemma had lost her words again. Fitz told Trip that Skye didn’t come to school that day. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Lying by omission felt bad too, but not as bad as actively deceiving someone. Jemma had lied by omission before. There were things she didn’t tell Miss Hand about the families who returned her to St. Agnes. That hadn’t been honest, but she had been okay keeping those things a secret to everyone except Skye. Skye always kept her secrets – now it was time for her to return the favor.

She had almost made it through all of first period (only 6 minutes, 32 seconds left until the bell) when the pasty face of the office worker appeared in the door with a note for Mrs. Henry. Mrs. Henry read it quickly and her brow creased into a frown, which made everything go tight again. _1-2-1-2-1-2_. She didn’t say anything about the note until the bell had rung (too loud, again) and everyone was packing up their things.

“Jemma? Mr. Hanes would like to see you in his office,” Mrs. Henry said carefully. “You can go right now while everyone is still changing classes. You’ll be excused from second period.” She held out the note from the office for Jemma to take. Her arm ached. It wouldn’t move, only tapped. She felt sick. This was bad, bad, bad.

Fitz tapped her on the shoulder – two quick taps that didn’t match her rhythm. The feeling on her arm snapped her out of her reverie slightly, enough for her to force her trembling hand upwards and accept the note.

“Best not to dawdle,” Mrs. Henry said, her tone chipper. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what was waiting for Jemma down in that office, but Jemma knew, and the knowing filled her with dread.

Fitz walked her there, making sure that she didn’t stop putting one foot in front of the other. Everything was blurring in a filmy haze. The hallways were too crowded, people kept bumping into her. She wanted to shove them all away and tell them to leave her alone, but she knew they weren’t doing it on purpose. They didn’t know about the radius of heat that she felt emanating from her body, the searing sphere that helped her to feel how close was too close for someone to stand. She was a star, a Red Giant, burning too hot, too bright. The lights were so bright.

Mrs. Baumbach in the office waved her through to Mr. Hanes, and she didn’t have a pleasant look on her face. Jemma could feel her whole body shaking, vibrating with worry. Mr. Hanes was seated behind his desk. He looked stern and cold. She was sitting across from him. Fitz was gone. She didn’t know how she got there, or where he’d disappeared to.

“Miss Simmons… uh, Jemma,” Mr. Hanes said. His voice was sharp, and it hurt her ears. She jammed her hands underneath her legs to keep them from finding their way up to cover her ears. She didn’t think Mr. Hanes would like that.

“We’re trying to determine why your… why Mary Sue Poots didn’t show up for school this morning. We have reason to believe the note you gave us is… inauthentic. We’ve been trying to get in touch with your foster parents, but as of yet we haven’t been able to contact them.”

The tightness was coming back. It started in her throat, then seeped into her chest. She needed to tap. She brought out a hand and began drumming nervously on the arm of her chair. _1-2-1-2-1-2_.

“Why is Mary Sue not in school, Jemma?”

“Skye. Her name is Skye.”

“Right, Skye. Where is she, Jemma?”

If she had been a better friend to Skye, Jemma could have opened her mouth and told Mr. Hanes a lie – that Skye was at a doctor’s appointment (with 2 “p”s), just like the note said. She couldn’t make herself do it. Her ribs throbbed with the effort of not confessing the whole ordeal. She couldn’t make herself lie, but at least she could keep the secret. At least she wouldn’t be a tattletale. She shook her head, and Mr. Hanes’ expression clouded.

“I don’t understand, Jemma. I need you to tell me where she is. A shake of the head doesn’t answer my question.”

His voice was too sharp, everything was too tight. Her vision was narrowing, and she could see none of the colors and all of the colors all at the same time. _1-2-1-2 wasn’t fast enough. Faster. 1-1-1-1-1-1._ She shook her head again. She had no words to give him.

“I don’t know if you think you’re protecting her, but if Mrs. Baumbach gets ahold of your foster parents and finds out the Skye is not excused for the day, you both could be in some very serious trouble.” Jemma heard herself make a whimpery, strangled sound that caused Mr. Hanes to recoil slightly. That was the exact wrong thing for her to hear from him. She never wanted trouble. She hated trouble. She hated being in trouble and being bad, bad, bad. Tapping wasn’t good enough. She lifted her hand off of the arm of the chair and tried to press against her fingers with her thumb as hard as she could. She needed pressure. She needed something to make the room stop feeling like it was spinning. She needed to go back to step 1 of her daily list and start the whole day over again.

“Jemma, I need you to calm down,” he said. So, so sharp. She couldn’t calm down because she didn’t feel calm and nothing around her felt calm and everything was tight she felt like she was going to explode. Without meaning to, she felt her hands start to shake, big shakes, trying to flap the bad air away from her face so that she could think and breathe and so that everything wouldn’t be so hot. She was rocking, too, back and forth, just a little, but enough to get her moving and help her not feel so trapped.

“Jesus Christ,” Mr. Hanes muttered. He wasn’t supposed to talk like that. She wasn’t supposed to hear him when he talked like that. He said it under his breath, but everything was so loud that she heard every letter pierce the air. “Nancy, please tell me you got the parents?”

“No word from Melinda. I left a message and I’m trying Phil again, Mr. Hanes.”

“Well, could you tell him to get here as soon as possible?”

Mr. Hanes was upset, she was in trouble and now she was being bad, bad, bad because she couldn’t sit still like she was supposed to. She could hear the voice of her foster mother Mrs. Williams, practically snarling as she brandished the broom, telling her just how ”bad, bad, bad” she was. She didn’t want to be bad, but everything around her felt so bad. Mrs. Williams was telling her it was time for punishment, that she’d carried on long enough. The Walkers were warning her about the locks. She hated the locks.

“I’ve got him, Mr. Hanes!” Mrs. Baumbach called.

“Transfer him, please.” There was a moment of silence before Mr. Hanes picked up his telephone. “Mr. Coulson? Ted Hanes, here. I’m calling regarding your daughter Mary Sue’s—”

“Skye!” Jemma choked out. He kept calling her the wrong thing, and she knew how much Skye hated her name. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make everything be quiet, and pressed her hands into her face.

“Sorry, um, Skye. She didn’t show up for school this morning, and we were checking to see if there was an oversight about excusing the—no, there wasn’t? So Skye should be here? I see. Well, Mr. Coulson, I’m sorry to say that she is not. I have your other daughter here with me—” He paused, and Jemma knew he was giving her one of those terrible looks, the ones grownups thought they hid so well from her. The one full of discomfort and pity and disgust. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know. “Well, to put it delicately, I tried to ask her about Skye’s whereabouts and she’s… throwing a bit of a tantrum. I think it’s best if you come down here as soon as possible, Mr. Coulson.”

Jemma wanted to shout and rant and rave and tell Mr. Hanes that he had it all wrong, that Skye was a good person, that she wasn’t throwing a tantrum, but she didn’t have any words to say it. She didn’t know how to explain that she was only trying to make everything feel right again, to get the sharpness to be quiet, to get the brightness to be soft, to get the loudness to be dim. She could hear Mrs. Williams telling her to do punishments. She didn’t want to. They hurt. Skye didn’t like it when she did them either. Skye. She had to be strong for Skye.

She couldn’t count the seconds between the time Mr. Hanes hung up the phone and Phil came rushing into the office, so she wasn’t sure how long it had been. Long enough for her to pull her feet up into the chair with her and try to curl into the tightest ball she could. Every one of her nerve endings felt like it was being set aflame, and she needed to hold them together, increase the pressure to snuff out the fire.

“Oh, good, Mr. Coulson. As you can see, Jemma’s being wholly uncooperative—”

“What happened?” Phil asked. “Jemma, sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Mr. Coulson, this kind of juvenile behavior isn’t—”

“Ted, I’d like to ask you to stop, please. The things you’re saying aren’t helping right now. Maybe you could give us a moment?” Phil’s voice was soft. Calm. It was like a blanket on her ears. Mr. Hanes had stopped talking, too, which helped. He might even be gone, if he had done as Phil had asked. She started to cry from pure relief that there was someone here now who she knew would be nice, who wouldn’t think she was being bad. Jemma could feel the vibrations in the floor as Phil walked close to her and knelt down in front of her chair.

“Jemma, it’s Phil. Can you hear me?” She nodded, but didn’t lift her head from the crook it was tucked into between her knees. Her shoulders were shaking as she cried shuddery, gasping tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over again. She needed him to know that she felt bad, bad, bad. She felt sorry.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Phil promised her. He was speaking barely above a whisper. Jemma could smell his aftershave, the lingering scent of the detergent that they used on all their laundry. Everything was still too bright, but the tightness was starting to fade. “Is it okay if I keep talking to you?” She nodded again. His voice was a good sound. Her heart rate was slowing down when he spoke. Her ears could hold onto the sound. His voice was an anchor.

“Is there something I can do that might help you feel better right now?” he asked. She shook her head and another round of “I’m sorrys” spilled out of her.

“It’s okay,” Phil soothed. “It’s really okay. You can take your time. I’ll just talk, and you can do whatever you need, okay?” She had stopped crying – choked down the tears and swallowed the shakes. Her insides wriggled when she did, but at least she didn’t feel like she was going to explode anymore. She rocked a little, letting the back and forth lull her into a rhythm. A pattern. She liked patterns. Back and forth. _1-2-1-2-1-2._ Her hand unwound from the knot it had been tangled in around her knees and found a place to perch, right behind her ear. She began to tap, _1-2-1-2_ at first, in time with the rocking, then slower, _1-2-3-4_. _Calmer_.

Phil was talking, but she didn’t have any idea what he was saying. It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that his voice felt good.

After a while, she felt the last dregs of tightness fall away from her stomach, her chest, her arm, her throat, and suddenly all of her muscles were limp and tired. The lights didn’t hurt anymore, nothing felt sharp. She lifted her head, and her watery eyes found Phil’s, only a foot away, and full of softness. She started to cry again, more from exhaustion than anything, and luckily Phil seemed to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re doing great.” He lifted a hand, then paused for a moment, the hand suspended in midair. “Is touching okay?” Jemma nodded, swiping the sleeve of her sweater across her face to rub away the tears. Phil rested his hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze, firm and gentle at the same time. She sagged off the chair and into his touch, bending her head downwards to rest her forehead on the back of his hand. Phil smiled and checked for permission before wrapping his other hand around her other shoulder and pulling her into a strong hug. She hugged him back, tightly, sinking into the even pressure of his arms.

They stayed like that for a minute or two, until Mr. Hanes cleared his throat uncomfortably from somewhere behind them. Not as gone as she had thought, it seemed.

“Look, Mr. Coulson, I have no idea what upset your daughter so much, and I’m glad she’s all right, but there is still the matter of Skye…”

“I got ahold of my wife on my way here,” Phil said evenly. “She’s checking our house to see if Skye went there. I’m imagining we’ll be hearing from her in just a minute or two.”

“I see.” Mr. Hanes huffed a little, fidgeted with some of the papers on his desk. He wasn’t looking at Jemma, but she could tell it was her that was still bothering him. He was working too hard to make sure he _didn’t_ look at her for that not to be his problem.

“She’s not there,” Jemma whispered to Phil, ducking her head. Phil’s eyebrows inched their way up his head, but he managed to keep the rest of his face calm and his voice steady.

“Skye’s not at the house?” he asked carefully.

Jemma shook her head.

“Do you know where she is?”

Jemma nodded.

“Can you tell me where?” A lump gathered in Jemma’s throat. Yes, she could, and she wanted to be honest. She didn’t want to lie to Phil. But Skye’s big brown eyes kept swimming into her thoughts, begging and pleading Jemma to keep the secret. She couldn’t tell. Skye would never forgive her.

She shook her head. She felt sick with shame, but she couldn’t make herself tell. Somewhere beside her, Phil sucked in a breath.

“Why not, Jemma?” Her words were gone. She shook her head. Mr. Hanes made an agitated sound.

“That’s all I could get out of her. Obviously, she’s covering for Skye. I told her there were consequences for students who help others break the rules—” Jemma whimpered and increased the tempo of her tapping. She was going to be in so much trouble, but she couldn’t do that to Skye. Skye was counting on her.

“Jemma, you’re not in trouble,” Phil said quickly, cutting off Mr. Hanes. “And honestly, I’m not really worried about the rules so much right now. What I’m the most worried about is making sure Skye is okay. I want her to be safe. I’m sure that’s what you want too, isn’t it?”

Jemma nodded. Of course. That’s all she ever really wanted for the both of them. Safety. Shelter. Maybe things like happiness and home eventually, but always safety first.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where my husband is? Phil Coulson?” A new voice carried from the front office, and Jemma twisted around to look through the open door to see May standing there, looking more worried than Jemma had ever seen. To her surprise, she also saw Bobbi, wearing a nervous expression and sitting tensely in one of the waiting chairs near Mrs. Baumbach’s desk. The chairs where she and Skye had met Fitz all those weeks ago.

Mrs. Baumbach pointed May in their direction, and May beckoned Bobbi to follow her into the office. Then May was standing beside Phil. The energy around her was all wrong, not May-like at all. If May had been a star in that moment, she would have been a star on the brink of collapse, one about to fold in on itself and create a black hole.

“Phil, she’s not at home.”

“I know,” Phil said softly. “Jemma said she wouldn’t be.” May turned her gaze to Jemma for the first time, and Jemma watched as her face morphed from surprise to concern to seriousness.

“Jemma, how—” May stopped herself, fully taking in the tear tracks on Jemma’s face, the tremulous tempo of her tap, the emptiness still lingering in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Jemma’s been trying to protect Skye, and she was in the middle of a tantrum when your husband arrived,” Mr. Hanes said icily. May’s eyes narrowed into what could only be described as a glare.

“Somehow, I doubt that, Mr. Hanes. Jemma doesn’t have tantrums.”

“Well, a fit then, whatever you want to call it.”

“I was bad,” Jemma said quietly. “Like at the store.”

“Jemma, love, that is not bad. And it’s not a tantrum,” she added, cutting her eyes back to Mr. Hanes. “That’s just… what happens sometimes when things are overwhelming, isn’t it? We can’t control how we feel about certain situations, especially when they’re stressful ones,” May told her. “Are you feeling stressed because Skye’s missing?”

“Yes,” Jemma said, after a minute. “I want her to come back. And I didn’t want to be bad.”

“Jemma knows where Skye is,” Phil informed May. “But she’s having some trouble saying.”

“I can’t,” Jemma murmured. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

“Jemma, we’re all very worried about Skye. Aren’t you worried about her, too?” May asked. Jemma nodded. That should have been obvious, she thought. “We need to find her, but to do that we need to know where she is.”

“Skye will understand, Jemma,” Bobbi said then, speaking for the first time. Her voice was tentative, like she wasn’t sure if she should be saying something, but there was confidence lurking in her tone, too. She believed the things she was saying. “You’re allowed to tell when someone’s safety is a concern. You’re supposed to tell, really. I know it’s really hard to say something out loud when it feels like the only thing that matters is keeping it hidden, but it’s not really true. Keeping Skye safe matters more than any secret, don’t you think?”

She did think. She thought long and hard about what May and Phil and Bobbi were telling her. The guilt from the secret and the lying was gnawing away at her, the fear that Skye might have really gotten herself in over her head this time was twisting her organs, making her feel like someone was tightening all the screws in her body. She wanted to be strong for Skye, and she didn’t want to tell her secret, but she knew that Bobbi was right. The best way she could help Skye right now was to let everything come spilling out.

“Sheboygan. She went to the hospital in Sheboygan.”

“She _what_?”

“Why would she do that?”

Jemma winced. They were asking too many questions all at once. They didn’t sound angry, but their voices were still too hard. She wanted to cover her ears, but settled for tapping instead. She didn’t want Mr. Hanes to say more unkind things about her, or for Phil and May to believe them. She thought that telling the truth would make her feel better, but instead all it did was upset everyone and make her heartrate spike.

Someone took a deep breath above her, and Jemma remembered that she should take one, too. Her brain needed oxygen if it was going to function properly, and she needed her brain if she was going to figure out how to help Skye.

“I’m sorry, we need to slow down.” That was May. “One thing at a time. Jemma, are you _sure_ that’s where Skye went?”

Jemma nodded.

“How did she get there? Sheboygan is miles from here…”

“She took the bus,” Jemma confessed. She watched as May turned to Phil, looking utterly bewildered.

“How on earth would she know which bus to take to get all the way to Sheboygan? How did she pay for it?” Jemma was relieved that the questions weren’t directed at her anymore.

“I gave her some money last night,” Bobbi interrupted, her voice low and flat. Everyone turned around to face her, and Bobbi shrunk a little under their gazes. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was for, but it seemed important. It was only a few dollars. I didn’t think… I didn’t think she could do much with that.”

“Well that’s certainly true,” Phil murmured. “That probably isn’t enough to cover a ticket both ways.” He paused, and a horrified expression washed over his face. “Jemma,” he asked, “Skye’s not… running away, is she?”

“No!” Jemma said quickly. She hoped not, at least. Skye had promised she was coming back. Skye had promised not to leave her. “She said she was going to be back before school was over. That way no one would know she had gone.”

“But why go to Sheboygan in the first place?” May wondered aloud. “What’s so important over there…” She trailed off, deep in thought. “Wait. You said she was going to the hospital?” When Jemma nodded, May let out a deep, painful sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose in between her thumb and middle finger. “God, I’ve been so stupid, Phil. She was asking me about… and I didn’t know what to say… Now she’s…”

“Mel, honey, take a breath,” Phil urged her, reaching out a hand and rubbing May’s arm comfortingly. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anyone here’s fault, either,” he added, taking note of the profoundly guilty expressions on Jemma and Bobbi’s faces.

“I have to go find her, Phil,” May said suddenly, her back going ramrod straight.

“Honey, do you think, maybe, we should give Victoria a call? I’m sure she knows what to do in these kinds of situations.” Jemma felt her face pale at the idea of May and Phil calling Miss Hand. Whatever trouble Skye was going to be in with May and Phil, it would be so much worse if Miss Hand got involved. Usually when Miss Hand got called, it meant that it was time to pack your things.

“Let me find her, Phil,” May said, almost pleading. “Let me bring her home before we call Vic. We’ll have to let her know, but let me find Skye first. I… she needs to come home safe.”

There was a long pause (enough time for 197 taps, although Jemma was using a very quick tempo) while Phil thought hard about what May was asking him.

“Okay,” he said finally. He looked so tired, and so sad and afraid. He looked just as bad as Jemma felt. “I’ll take Bobbi and Jemma home, and you go find Skye. If you don’t find her after two hours—”

“Then we’ll call Vic,” May agreed. “I can do this, Phil.”

“I know you can. Just… find her, Mel. Find her, and bring her home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all liked this chapter. It's a special one for me. I love Jemma so much, and I've been trying to get her internal voice just right for the past 39 chapters, and it took until now for me to feel like she was ready. I hope y'all feel like I did her justice :) (Whether you did or didn't, feel free to let me know either way! I love to hear from you!) As always, a huge thank you to everyone for reading! 
> 
> Also, special shout-out to Sanctuaria, who was kind enough to look over parts of this for me ahead of time! The second set of eyes was a huge help :)
> 
> EDIT: I don't often like to talk about things outside of the story in these notes, but I would be remiss if I didn't take a moment to express my deep sadness at hearing the news of Chadwick Boseman's passing just now. He was such an important person to so many people, in so many different ways, and his death feels like a punch to the gut. May he rest in peace, and may his legacy live on.


	40. The Long Drive Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings exactly for this chapter, just know that when I started writing it, I had visions of something on the fluffier side, but instead it got real angsty... there's a breath of hope at the end, though, so never fear! I don't like to leave things too dour ;) Just be warned of angst ahead...

“Are you all right?” That was the very first thing May said to her once she had slid into the passenger seat of the car. Skye didn’t usually get to sit up front, but that was the door that May had leaned over and opened, so that was where she sat. Skye didn’t say anything. She was trying to ignore the deep chill that permeated her body now that she had gotten out of the rain. She was also trying to force her chin to stop quivering, and she was worried that if she tried to talk, she would start crying again. She was tired of crying, and she didn’t think that May was interested in listening to her blubber. May’s face was totally unreadable – a blank slate – and Skye had a sinking feeling that meant she was about to be in more trouble than she could have ever imagined.

“Are you hurt?” May flicked her eyes off the road momentarily to check Skye’s reaction to the question. Her face was still emotionless, but her voice gave her away. It was worried. Skye felt bad for making May worry, so she shook her head. She wasn’t hurt, at least, not in any way that May needed to be concerned with.

May reached over and fiddled with the knobs on the air conditioning, and soon soupy warm air started blowing out towards Skye.

“You must be cold,” May said. “You’re soaked.” Skye stared down at her lap, but nodded appreciatively. She didn’t know why May was being so nice. She didn’t know why she hadn’t started yelling yet. Skye had done something incredibly stupid and dangerous, probably more stupid or dangerous than any of her other indiscretions, and May had to come out and rescue her.

“We have nearly thirty minutes in this car together before we get home,” May said pointedly. “I think you and I should use that time to have a conversation.”

Skye stuck out her chin and pulled her feet up into the seat with her, tucking her knees against her chest. A conversation was the last thing she wanted to have. She’d rather just get yelled at and get it over with. She could already see where this was going to end up, and she didn’t see any point in dragging out the inevitable.

“Skye, your choices right now are very limited. Either we can talk now, in the car, or we can talk at home, but not talking isn’t an option.” The steeliness that Skye had been expecting had appeared in May’s tone. So she _was_ mad. She was just hiding it. That was, in Skye’s experience, one of the more dangerous types of anger.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Skye said stubbornly. If May was going to pretend like she wasn’t mad, then Skye wasn’t going to fall for it. Better to get the anger out in the open, draw it out now while they were still in the car rather than wait for it to explode at home.

“Well, I have some things I’d like to know, so maybe we can start there,” May clipped. Skye flinched. She hadn’t meant to, but something about May’s voice had reminded her of the nuns for the briefest moment, and she had hated the comparison. She tried to pass the flinch off as a shiver, but May was too smart for that. She must have realized how curt her tone was, though, because she spoke more carefully the next time. “How about this: We take turns asking each other questions until we get home, and the other person has to answer truthfully, no matter what.”

“100% truth?”

“100% truth. From both of us. Deal?”

“Deal, I guess,” Skye acquiesced. She propped her chin on her knees. She wasn’t too thrilled with the agreement, but she wasn’t sure she could see any way out of it. At least this way she could get something from May in exchange.

“I think we should start with what exactly you’re doing out here in the rain in downtown Sheboygan.”

Skye wrinkled her nose. She should have known May wasn’t going to beat around the bush. She rifled through all of the possible explanations she could give, trying to decide if any of them were good enough to walk the line between 100% truth and still shielding some of her secrets.

“I didn’t have enough money for the bus back home,” Skye finally said. “And I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. That’s why I was sitting out here in the rain.” May inhaled stiffly through her nose, and Skye could tell she was exasperated by the evasiveness of Skye’s answer. Skye had told the truth, though, so she considered her end of the bargain held up. To her credit, May didn’t ask a follow-up question, although Skye thought she must be dying to.

“Okay,” May said eventually. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”

“How did you find me?” It wasn’t the question Skye had been planning on asking, but it slipped off her tongue before she realized it was there.

“I drove around all the bus stops I could find in Sheboygan,” May said, in a cool imitation of Skye’s vagueness. When she noticed the confused look on Skye’s face, she took pity and continued. “The school called me and Phil when you didn’t show up for class,” she explained. “When we got there, Jemma had been called down to the office.” A pang shot through Skye’s heart. She could imagine how terrified Jemma must have been talking to the principal. Yet another thing for her to feel guilty about. “She was really worried, Skye. We all were. No one knew where you were, if you were safe.”

“Jemma knew,” Skye said, almost to herself. “Jemma told, didn’t she?” She found that there wasn’t a trace of frustration or disappointment towards Jemma anywhere in her. It hadn’t been fair for her to ask Jemma to lie for her. Somehow, she knew that Jemma had only been trying to help.

“I’ll let the two of you work that out. I just think you’re very lucky you have someone who cares so much about you. Someone who would be brave enough to do something that scared her just to make sure you were safe.”

“I know,” Skye said, her voice small. “I shouldn’t have put her in that position. I don’t… I don’t deserve someone like her.”

“Skye, what you did was not okay, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve people who love you and care about you. Do you understand that?” Skye blinked hard to keep fresh tears from gathering in her eyes. May was wrong, but Skye didn’t know how to explain that to her without making herself sound like an even worse person than she already was. May was waiting for an answer, so Skye just shrugged.

“Is that your next question?” she asked sarcastically. Her brain was shouting at her to stop being so rude, but a stubborn defensiveness was bricking up her heart. May didn’t know anything about Skye. She didn’t know just how undeserving Skye really was. May was supposed to be honest, but telling her that she deserved someone like Jemma felt a lot like a lie.

“No, I guess not,” May relented. She paused for a minute, focused on the road as she changed lanes. When she spoke again, she sounded like she was trying hard not to be upset. “What were you trying to do here, Skye? Why come to Sheboygan in the first place? That’s my real next question, and I want the whole story this time.”

The whole story. Where to even start? Skye swallowed hard. How far back did May really want her to go? To this morning? To yesterday afternoon with Ward in the library? To the night she cracked into May’s email? To the day she was dumped on the doorstep like a newspaper nobody would ever open? Skye locked and unlocked her fingers in front of her, stalling for time. Her hands were still so cold. She blew on them, trying to defrost her fingers as much as her mouth.

“I came to find my parents,” Skye finally said. She was staring at her hands. She couldn’t force herself to look at May while she confessed the whole messy truth. “Or, I guess, to find out stuff about them. I went to the hospital where I might have been born, and I tried to get the records, because I couldn’t find them online. They said on the website that you had to ask in person.” She paused, took a breath. Her heart was beating faster than she wanted it to.

“I know you said you were working on it, and I wanted to believe you, but I just… I couldn’t wait anymore. I need to find them, especially after… I just need to find them, okay? I need to not be a burden anymore—”

“Skye, you’re not a burden—”

“Don’t lie!” Skye snapped. “You’re not supposed to lie right now! I _am_ a burden. You spent all day trying to find me because I didn’t listen to you and I did something stupid. I can’t read, I’m flunking out of school, and I get in trouble all the time, but I still keep breaking rules. I’ve been using the computers at school, even though it’s against my punishment, I took a bus to a whole different city, I tell lies and get in fights, and I know you know about all the other bad stuff I do all the time because I went on your computer and looked at my file in your email, so I saw it all there.”

“Skye, I need you to calm down—”

“I don’t want to be calm!” Skye shouted. Her eyes stung with angry tears, and her hands were balled up into shaking fists. How had she managed to screw everything up so spectacularly? The one good thing in her life besides Jemma, and she was throwing it all out the window onto the rain-soaked highway.

May pulled the car over to the side of the road and slowed to a stop in the shoulder. She turned in her seat so that she was looking at Skye and nothing else.

“Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to be calm right now if you don’t want to. Whatever you want to feel, you can feel it right here. I’m not going anywhere, the car’s not going anywhere. We can stay here as long as you need.” Skye was crying for real now, agitated, jerky sobs of frustration and pent-up emotion, and she buried her head in her knees, wrapping her hands around the back of her neck, trying to block it all out. All of the rage, all of the hurt and guilt and shame. Why couldn’t she just be good? Why couldn’t she be good enough?

Somewhere deep inside her, a guttural bellow of anguish was building up, trying to claw its way out of her chest. Before she knew what she was doing, she was sitting up straight again, beating her fists as hard as she could against the dashboard with a shout of pure emotion – just one quick pound that sent shockwaves radiating up her arms. The force of the impact was enough to startle her out of doing it again, and just as soon as everything had exploded inside of her, everything flooded away, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted and ashamed.

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” she whispered after a few minutes, wiping brusquely across her streaming eyes.

“Okay, ask away.”

“Are you mad at me?”

There was a pause before May spoke. An excruciating, anxiety-riddled pause where Skye was roughly reminded that smart people didn’t ask questions they didn’t want to hear the answers to.

“Skye, I promised you that I would be honest, and I’m going to honor that. So, yes, there is a part of me that was angry at you earlier today. When we didn’t know where you were, when we thought you had run away. When I found out where you had gone and what you had done. I was angry. But I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry at the choice that you made, and at the situation. I was angry at myself, because I felt like part of it was my fault, like I hadn’t done enough to help you. But I also want you to know that I was feeling a lot of other things. Mostly what I was feeling was scared. Skye, I was terrified when I realized you were gone and no one knew where to find you; we all were. Me, Phil, Bobbi, and Jemma especially. I was afraid that we had lost you forever, or that you didn’t want to be a part of our family anymore. I was afraid that you might be in trouble, or that you might be hurt, or that I would never see you again.”

May continued: “I also think it’s important for you to know that I’m not mad at you right now, either. Not for yelling, or for the things you said. I’m worried for you, because it seems like you might be hurting in ways that Phil and I haven’t seen before now. I’m sad because it sounds like you think you’re a burden on the people who care about you, even though that’s not true. Not at all. Not in any way.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” Skye said, in the smallest voice she had ever used. The voice of a child, scared, broken. A thimble voice, for a person who felt tiny enough to climb inside one and hide forever. “Everyone always does, eventually. Once they find out what I’m really like. Who I really am.”

“Oh Skye,” May’s voice cracked, and Skye was shocked to see devastation cascade over her foster mother’s face. “Skye, I don’t hate you because I could never hate you. I don’t hate you because you are not a hateful person. You’re a good person, who is worthy of being loved all the time, no matter what, and never hated.”

“How can you know that? You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” May said firmly. “I know that you have one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met. I know that you are smart, and talented, and capable of remarkable things. I know that you care deeply about your friends. I know that you stand up for people who can’t defend themselves. And I know that you try, so, so hard, to be the best version of yourself that you can be. Nobody’s perfect, nobody’s good all the time. That’s why it matters that we do our best. That’s why the important thing—”

“—is to try,” Skye finished.

“Yes. And you do. Every day. And that’s why I could never hate you. That’s why I… that’s why you deserve to be loved.”

Skye felt numb. She wanted so desperately to believe the things that May was telling her. The things that filled her up with helium and made her feel like she was soaring up towards the sun. No grownup had ever talked to her like that before. No person, except for maybe Jemma, but she said it in her own, less direct way.

“You’re not supposed to lie. That was the deal,” Skye pointed out tentatively. She had to know.

“And I didn’t,” May told her. Her dark eyes, simultaneously fierce and gentle, were locked onto Skye’s. “Everything I said was true.”

“It’s your turn to ask a question.”

May thought for a moment. “Do you believe me?” The question hung there in the air, sucking up all of the oxygen in the car.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe. I want to.”

“Well, that’s a really good place to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd we're back! Sorry for disappearing for a few days... my schedule got switched at one of my jobs, so things have been kind of hectic this week. Anyhow, the chapter's here and although it's on the shorter side, hopefully it's done its job :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	41. Love Language

The rest of the car ride passed in relative silence. The exhaustion of the day had caught up to Skye, and she drifted in and out of sleep as May guided the car towards home. The cool glass of the rain-streaked window felt good on Skye’s feverish forehead, and the motion of the car lulled her into a drowsy daze.

She woke when the car stopped in the driveway, the sudden change from movement to stillness jolting her back to reality. A slithery knot of fresh guilt thrashed in her stomach at the prospect of having to go and face the others. She looked to May, poorly concealed fear pooled in her eyes.

“We should get inside. We can get you some dry clothes. And I’m sure everyone will be relieved to see you.”

Skye wasn’t as sure about that as May seemed to be, but the prospect of dry clothes was too good to resist, so she clambered out of the car and followed May into the house. She barely made it two steps past the front door before something solid plowed into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Skye!” It was Jemma, holding on for dear life, her body shaking against Skye’s. Skye felt wetness on her neck where Jemma’s face was buried, and figured that Jemma had been crying. Her own eyes dampened as she returned the forceful hug, wrapping Jemma up as tightly as she could.

“Skye, I’m so sorry,” Jemma breathed. “I ruined—”

“No, I’m sorry,” Skye insisted. “I should never have done it. It was stupid and reckless, just like you said. I never should have asked you to lie for me, either. That wasn’t fair.”

“I was so worried about you, and I didn’t want you to hate me for telling, but—”

“I could never hate you. And I’m… I’m really glad you did,” said Skye. “You were right. I messed up. I would still be stuck in Sheboygan if you hadn’t told.”

“You’re all cold and wet,” Jemma remarked, pulling away slightly from their hug. “You need to go change, you’ll catch cold if you stay like this.”

“Excellent advice from Dr. Simmons,” May said kindly. She had been nice enough to let the girls have their moment, but Skye knew she was probably ready to get down to business. “Skye, why don’t you go take a hot shower and put on some dry clothes?” She turned to Jemma once Skye had nodded. “Jemma, where are Phil and Bobbi?”

“Bobbi’s been up in her room,” Jemma said. “She said she didn’t like sitting around and waiting. I could hear her trying to pace with her crutches for a while, but it’s been quiet for a bit. Phil’s cooking.”

“I thought I smelled something good,” May smiled. “Skye, if Phil’s cooking, then it’ll probably be time to eat dinner once you’re finished upstairs. Do you want to tell him we’re back, or would you like me to?”

“You can,” Skye said, her cheeks growing warm. Something about seeing Phil after everything she’d put him and May through that day made her feel anxious, and she felt herself wanting to delay the reunion for some reason. It had been different with Jemma, but things usually were.

When they went upstairs, Jemma lingered briefly outside of Bobbi’s closed bedroom door, and Skye could tell she wanted to let Bobbi know that everyone had returned home safely. Typical Jemma, always thinking of everyone else. Skye nodded, to let her know it was okay, and Jemma knocked.

“Bobbi? It’s Jemma. Skye’s home.” There wasn’t any sound from behind the door for a long time, and Skye wondered if Bobbi had heard them. Jemma was about to knock again when Bobbi’s voice drifted through the door, sounding as thin as a gossamer strand from a spiderweb.

“Oh. Okay. That’s good. That’s really good. Thanks, Jemma.”

Jemma turned her furrowed brow on Skye, and Skye knew she had noticed that Bobbi didn’t sound at all like herself.

“Just leave her,” Skye said quietly, so that only Jemma could hear. “She’s probably mad at me. I don’t want to make it worse.” Skye slunk into her and Jemma’s bedroom and began pulling out some clean clothes.

“Skye, I don’t think she’s mad,” Jemma assuaged, following behind her, step for step. “She was really worried this afternoon. You should have seen her. She’s probably just…”

“It’s fine,” Skye said curtly. “She needs some space. Whatever’s the matter, it’s because of me, so the least I can do is let her have her space.”

“Skye, please don’t be mad,” Jemma pleaded.

“I’m not mad at her!” Skye protested.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“…Oh.”

“I meant don’t be mad at yourself,” Jemma explained. “I know how you get after you think you’ve made a mistake. You don’t need to punish yourself.”

“Someone has to.”

Skye didn’t wait for Jemma to respond, turning quickly on her heel and heading towards the bathroom. The water from the shower was warm, but she still shivered slightly under the spray. At least the heat of the running water helped her to feel like all of the horrible, sticky bad parts of her day were melting off of her, like drippy wax sliding down the side of a candle. She didn’t know yet how she was going to make it up to everyone, to atone for her misdeeds, but she knew in her bones that she would do whatever it took to put things right.

* * *

Downstairs, in the kitchen, May had just found Phil, chopping and mixing in a cooking frenzy.

“Phil, honey, we’re home. Skye’s home. I found her.”

Phil looked up, snapped out of his culinary reverie, and sagged. If May hadn’t known any better, she would have thought that the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the floor was the grip he held on the counter. “Oh, thank god. Is she all right?”

“She’s… okay. I sent her upstairs to shower. She was soaking wet and sitting in the rain when I found her.”

“But she’s not hurt?”

“Not physically, no.”

“What was she even doing all the way down in Sheboygan? And at a hospital?”

“She was looking for her parents, Phil,” May said sadly. “She thought I wasn’t doing enough, so she tried to do it herself. She went to the hospital to try and find their records.”

“How would she even know where to look? Or when?”

“Apparently she found the copies of her file that Victoria sent us in my email,” May sighed. “One of her many confessions during our car ride home.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means she’s not hurt, Phil, but she’s hurting. She’s got all this pain that she’s carrying around, and we didn’t see it. I… I think she needs help. Help that we can’t give her.”

“You mean like a therapist?” Phil asked. He looked so serious, the lines around his mouth standing taut, and yet still so kind, so concerned. Love was pouring out from within him, just like it always did.

“I don’t know, maybe. Someone she can talk to, who can help her work through everything. It’s more than any one person should ever have to shoulder on their own, much less a 13-year-old kid.”

“Well, we can talk with Victoria about it when we call her tomorrow morning. Maybe she’ll have some suggestions about where to start. And we have that meeting with the guidance counselor at school we already had scheduled for next week, too. I’m sure Polly will have some ideas, maybe some names of professionals in the area...” Phil trailed off, looking a little helpless. “She’s really hurting, Mel?”

“She’s really hurting. She looked so small when I pulled her off the street. Her eyes were all red and she was just _shaking_. I tried to talk to her in the car—”

“One of your mother’s favorite tricks,” Phil teased gently. “A captive audience.”

“Don’t you dare, Phil,” May said, pretending to be aghast. “I’m nothing like my mother. And I tried to talk to her in the car because I thought it would be easier if she thought I was focused on the road instead of on judging her.”

“I know,” Phil appeased, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you of being your mother.”

“She didn’t want to talk. She kept giving me these short little answers, deflecting, you know. And then, I don’t know, something just… snapped, I guess. I don’t know what triggered it, exactly, but all of the sudden she was so angry, and she kept listing off all of these things she had done wrong, like I was supposed to take notes and suddenly realize that she wasn’t worth the trouble.” May felt her mouth twist in dismay, and her voice came out thick when she spoke again. “Phil, she doesn’t believe she deserves love. She asked me why I didn’t hate her.”

“Oh.” Phil’s eyes filled with the same sadness that May felt tugging roughly at her own heart. “Oh, Skye…”

“I tried to explain that that wasn’t true, but I… I messed it up, Phil. I told her that I didn’t hate her, and that she did deserve love, but I should have said… I didn’t tell her that I love her. I just froze. She needed to hear that, and I couldn’t give it to her.”

“Hey,” Phil said softly, crossing around the counter and wrapping her up in his arms. “Mel, I’m sure everything you said was all right. You’re too hard on yourself. You give these girls so much, and even if you couldn’t say the words to Skye tonight, I’m sure she knows. You drove all the way to Sheboygan for goodness’ sake. That’s an act of love right there. Sitting with her through whatever emotions she had to process in the car, wanting to get her help. You can show love without saying the word, honey, and you do, in so many ways.”

“I just worry that it’s not enough,” May admitted, leaning into Phil’s embrace. “Sometimes you just need to hear it out loud to believe the rest of it. Skye’s not you, Phil, I’m not sure she can wait almost two years for me to say ‘I love you.’”

“Two years after we started dating,” Phil corrected, smiling. “I had known you for much longer than that before you told me you loved me. But it was worth every second of waiting. It meant so much more when you finally said it, because I knew you really meant it, because you took your time.”

“We can’t all be like you and declare our love after 8 months of seeing each other,” May teased. “But I knew you meant it, too, even though it felt fast. I was worried you would want me to say it back right away.”

“You did, in your own way,” Phil told her, planting a kiss in the space where her neck met her shoulder, the little dip right beside her collar bone. “Like I said, you’re very good at showing love in ways that don’t use words. You came to my mom’s funeral not that long after I’d said it. You let me cry on you for hours, you handled all the details with the funeral home. That’s when I knew you loved me back.”

“You knew, all the way back then?”

“I knew,” he said seriously. “Just like how I know you’ll find a way to make sure Skye knows she’s loved. And Jemma and Bobbi, too. Because you do love them, don’t you, Mel?”

“I… I really do,” May said, just above a whisper. She had surprised herself. Somewhere deep inside her, she had already known, she supposed. But she had never put it into words like that, never put a name to the swell of feeling she had for the three amazing children she now had running around her house. “I can’t believe it happened so fast.”

“I think that’s part of becoming a parent,” Phil smiled, a little sadly. “They grab ahold of your heartstrings and never let you go. And you realize one day that you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, and no one ate much of anything, despite Phil having outdone himself with a chicken casserole and a myriad of side dishes. It was one of his ways of coping with stress, May knew, to keep busy with things that distracted him. Cooking, tinkering with the car, or organizing his movie collection by title, or release date, genre, or director. May never knew exactly what the current system was going to be, which is why she left the movie selection up to him. Once, he had organized by the color of the box, which had looked nice but made it impossible to find anything.

Skye in particular pushed most of her food around her plate, something that caught May by surprise. She was almost certain that Skye hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast that morning, but she wasn’t interested in pushing Skye any further that night.

When they had given up on trying to finish anything on their plates, Phil had leapt up to start doing the dishes as well, even though it was supposed to be Jemma’s night to do them. May had noticed how cautious Phil was being around Jemma, and she wondered what exactly she had missed between the two of them before arriving in the principal’s office that afternoon. She was fairly positive that Jemma had tried to tell her that she’d had another meltdown, like the one during the somewhat disastrous shopping trip to the mall, even though she hadn’t used those words exactly, and the delicate way Phil was treating her supported her theory.

Jemma, to her credit, seemed mostly unfazed, although it could have had more to do with the fact that her joyous relief over Skye’s safe return outweighed her lingering anxiety, May reasoned. Still, she was slightly more fidgety than what May was coming to understand was normal for her, and the only person she looked at directly or talked to was Skye. It was like a flashback to some of their first nights in the house.

“It’ll just take me a minute,” Phil had assured her, when Jemma rose to take the plates from his hands. “We’ve all had a long, hard day. Let me just take care of it, all right?”

Bobbi was the mystery of the bunch. May had gathered from Phil that Bobbi had been with him when he’d gotten the call about Skye, which is how she ended up sitting in the office with them. Bobbi had been worried – they all had been – but she had spoken evenly with Jemma and had been the one to convince her to reveal Skye’s location. May had assumed that once Skye had come home safe and sound that Bobbi would let go of that haunted look in her eyes, but that hadn’t been the case. Not for the first time, May wished she could pop open the heads of her foster daughters like the hood of a car and take a look at the inner workings to find out what was really going on in there.

Her ex, the only other person she’d dated besides Phil, had once teased her because she’d told him that everything would be so much easier if people came with instruction manuals. He’d said that was what psychology was for, and she remembered how much they’d both laughed at the idea of Melinda May cracking a psych textbook. Besides, it wasn’t so much the psychology that gave her trouble – it was the feelings. The emotions tied up in every aspect of life. Phil was open with his, so she never had to guess what he was thinking or feeling. But Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma weren’t like that. They were guarded. They were teenagers. It was practically their job to camouflage their feelings until the rare moments when they let a flash of color slip; a glimpse of happy yellow or angry red peeking out from the dense foliage of carefully constructed expressions and body language.

She had tried to check on Bobbi, to ask if she was all right, but Bobbi had waved her off, claiming that she was fine and just wanted to get to bed. May had let her go, but not without a series of mental notes for future follow-up conversations. She had missed the signs with Skye, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Bobbi.

Jemma, too, had gone up for an early bedtime, although that came at Phil’s urging, since he had caught her yawning and rubbing sleepy eyes at the table. Jemma’s reluctant departure meant that Skye was left alone in the kitchen with May and Phil, something she looked deeply uneasy about. She hadn’t said a word to Phil since coming home, although she had let him hug her tightly when he’d first seen her.

“Skye, I think you know that we need to talk,” Phil said, returning to the table. Skye looked down at her feet, but nodded. “I’m sure you’re tired, so we won’t talk long tonight. We can say more in the morning after we’ve all had a good night’s sleep. But there are some things that need to be said.”

“I’m really, really sorry,” Skye said, sounding every bit of her young age.

“We know, sweetheart. We know you are,” Phil assured her, reaching out and taking her hand. “We’re all just relieved you’re okay, that you’re safe. You had us really worried, kiddo.”

“I know.”

“Skye, you should know that I told Phil a little about what we talked about in the car,” May told her. The crestfallen look on Skye’s face was one she had been hoping to avoid, but May wasn’t interested in keeping secrets from Skye. “We don’t need to get into all of it tonight. I just wanted you to know that he knows.”

“You are extraordinary, Skye, and worthy of every good thing. That’s why it makes me so sad to see you make harmful choices. Choices that put you danger,” Phil said. “You’re not disposable, and we don’t want you acting like you are. You mean far too much to too many people for you to put yourself at risk.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, May fought the urge to smile. Phil’s words sounded so much like the little speech he had given her not too long ago. She wondered if he thought that she and Skye were more similar than either of them realized, or if it was just a coincidence.

“Are you going to call Miss Hand?” Skye asked.

“We are,” May said. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but Skye looked even more pitiful after hearing the answer than before. “We’re calling her tomorrow morning. She’s your social worker, Skye, she has to know.”

“I guess I should pack up, then…”

“What do you mean?” Phil wanted to know.

“When you call Miss Hand, that means I have to go,” Skye said, like it was obvious. “Just promise me you’ll keep Jemma, okay? She didn’t do anything wrong, I was the one who made her cover for me. She… she likes it here. She’s doing good here. Don’t send her back, too, please.”

“Skye,” Phil said, confusion and hurt creasing his brow, “we’re not sending you back. We’re just letting Miss Hand know what happened. We don’t want you to leave.”

“Unless… that’s what you want?” May asked uncertainly. “Are you unhappy here? Do you want to go back to St. Agnes?”

“No!” Skye said suddenly. “I don’t want to go back. I never want to go back. I just… usually you don’t get to stay past your third screwup. I’m pretty sure this is way past three for me, so I thought…”

“Skye, you will have a home here for as long as you want one.” Phil was deadly serious. “Melinda and I will never send you back unless that’s something you decide you want. We told you and Jemma that when you both first came, and we meant it then, and we mean it now.”

“Okay,” said Skye. She was staring at the tabletop, her face totally still. May wished again to be able to see inside her brain. “What kind of punishment am I going to get?”

May was a little taken aback by the question, and by the look on Phil’s face, he was, too.

“Why don’t we wait until tomorrow to talk about that, love?” May soothed. Phil got a funny expression on his face, and he turned to May like a lightbulb had just gone off in his brain. It took May a minute to realize what he was trying to telegraph to her, but then it clicked. _Love_. She had, without realizing it, been telling their children of her love from the very beginning. In the same way that _kiddo_ and _sweetheart_ rolled off of Phil’s tongue, _love_ rolled off of hers. It still wasn’t the “I love you” that she wanted to be able to give, but she was amazed by her own subconscious, and by the fact that it had taken her this long to see it for what it was.

Fortunately, Skye had missed their whole ridiculous, silent exchange, opting instead to shrug simply at the table. “Okay.” She paused for another moment. “I really am sorry.”

“We know,” Phil said again. “And we forgive you. We’re not mad, Skye. We’re just happy to have you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I regret to inform you all that we have officially reached the point where I've run out of pre-written chapters... What does that mean exactly? Nothing grim, I promise, just that updates might be coming a little slower, now that I have to actually finish writing the chapters before they can be posted lol. It normally takes me around two weeks to get three chapters written (and I do like to write them in little blocks like that, just so I can make sure everything flows right and whatnot), so we'll see how that shakes out in the coming weeks on here. I've already been working on the next three, so hopefully we'll see those sooner rather than later :)
> 
> Anyway, all that to say, thank you in advance for your patience, and I hope you'll still be coming around every so often! I've grown quite fond of you all, and I'd hate to run you off with my slow updating speed :)


	42. To Mend and Make Amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of abuse/neglect

Skye had made a lot of mistakes in her relatively short life. She had done a lot of bad things, and she had gotten in trouble plenty of times. But what she had done that day probably took the cake. The thing that made it so much worse than every other wrong thing she’d ever done wasn’t the fact that she’d been caught, or the fact that the whole thing had turned out to be a pointless failure. It was the fact that the people she’d had to come home to and face weren’t mad at her. May hadn’t shouted, Phil hadn’t thrown anything, Jemma hadn’t given her the cold shoulder. They weren’t mad. They were sad, and scared, and disappointed. She hadn’t angered them – she’d hurt them.

If there was one thing that made Skye feel worse than anything else in the world, it was the knowledge that someone else – someone she cared about – was hurt because of something she did. That was why it was Jemma’s voice that intertwined with her conscience, why Skye did her best to reign in her most reckless impulses around her. She never wanted to hurt Jemma the way other people had hurt them, and now, she figured, she could add Phil, and May, and even Bobbi to that list.

That was also why, she supposed, she found herself telling Jemma everything about everything that night, under the cover of darkness. She owed it to Jemma to stop keeping secrets after everything she’d put her through that day.

Jemma had wordlessly invited Skye to slide into bed next to her once Phil had turned the light out and closed the door, and Skye didn’t hesitate to curl into place beside her. Jemma knew that Skye didn’t want to be alone, and Skye loved her for it. She knew she owed Jemma a thousand apologies and gestures of remorse, and she intended on making all of them, but Jemma didn’t need to wait for all that to happen before she invited Skye back to her side. She was just good that way.

They lay there, Skye’s chin tucked near Jemma’s shoulder, the warmth and stability of one another keeping Skye steady as she spilled it all, the whole disastrous truth, for Jemma to see. She told Jemma about Ward, and how he’d known her secrets and pushed all the right buttons. To her credit, Jemma didn’t seem nearly as flapped by the news as Skye had feared. She started tapping under the covers, of course, but she took Ward’s latest jibes almost in stride.

“Skye, he’s just awful. You can’t let him get under your skin like that.”

“I know I shouldn’t have, but… I don’t know, something about the things he said… they just bothered me more than stuff like that usually does. And I hated that he knew all that stuff, and knew how to dangle it over my head.”

“We have to be more careful with him. Maybe move up our timetable. We should talk with Fitz and Trip and see what they think.”

“Doesn’t it weird you out that he and that Raina girl know so much about us?”

“Maybe a little,” Jemma admitted, “but it doesn’t bother me much if people at school know I’m in foster care. The only people at school whose opinions matter to me are you and Fitz and Trip, and you three already know.”

“I guess you’re right. I just… I don’t like feeling powerless against him. And I don’t like that he thinks he can get away with it.”

She told Jemma about Bobbi’s warning regarding Raina, and how she’d gotten Bobbi to give her the money she needed for the bus ticket. She recounted her mistakes on the way to Sheboygan, the way she’d snuck into the back of the hospital, and her encounter with nice Nora in Records.

“So they still wouldn’t let you see the files of the patients themselves? Not the babies or the parents?”

“No,” Skye said sadly. “Just the ones with the last names and all the numbers and codes and stuff. I wish I’d had you with me. I bet you could have figured out more of that medical mumbo-jumbo than I did.”

“Still, surnames might come in handy at some point. At least it’s better than coming away totally empty handed.”

“It doesn’t really feel like it. It feels like another dead end, and this one is even worse because it cost so much more to get.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Skye said, a little indignant. “It’s my fault for making such a bad plan. It’s my fault for ever thinking I could actually find them.”

“I just meant that I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how you wanted. I’m sorry you can’t find the things you’re looking for. I’m sorry there hasn’t been anyone to… fill the empty space for you.”

Skye was surprised. Obviously Jemma knew she wanted to find her parents, and it stood to reason that she understood Skye’s desire to know where she came from, but she had never told Jemma about the empty space. She had no idea that Jemma knew about the aching longing to belong that she cradled in her chest. Skye realized she should have given Jemma more credit. Of course Jemma had known. Jemma somehow seemed to know every part of Skye’s heart, whether Skye uncovered it for her or not. Not for the first time, Skye was overwhelmed with the knowledge that no one understood her like Jemma.

“Well, I’ll always have you,” Skye said softly, smiling into the blanket and tangling her fingers up with Jemma’s under the covers. “You’ll always be better than anyone I could ever hope to track down.”

“You’ll always have me,” Jemma murmured. “And I’ll always have you.”

They were quiet for a while, sitting with the magnitude of the promise they’d just made to each other. It was Jemma who eventually broke the silence.

“Skye? I… I want you to know… I feel the empty space too, sometimes. Maybe not the same way, but… I understand feeling like part of you is missing.”

“I know,” Skye whispered, her heart sinking a little. She wasn’t the only one without her parents, even if she selfishly acted like she had exclusive access to that pain sometimes. “I know.”

“But I feel less empty with you.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course.”

Skye bit back a smile. Of course. Jemma didn’t say things she didn’t mean. “You make me feel less empty, too,” Skye told her. “I forget sometimes, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I know.”

“Before May came and found me,” Skye said, after a long while, “I thought I was going to be stuck there forever. It was raining, and I didn’t have any money for the bus home. And all I kept thinking was that I let you down. I let you down again, and this time was going to be so much worse because I wasn’t even going to be able to see you again to tell you how sorry I was.”

“I’m glad she found you.”

“Me too.” Skye’s cheeks grew warm at the admission. “I’m glad you told her where to find me.”

“I felt horribly about it—” Jemma tried to say, but Skye cut her off.

“You shouldn’t. It was the right thing to do. You always know the right thing to do, even if someone’s – if _I’m_ – trying to get you to do the opposite.” Skye paused for a moment, weighing whether or not she wanted to broach the subject that had been on her mind since that afternoon. “May said you had gotten called down to the office. I’m sorry, I bet that was terrible.”

“Mr. Hanes isn’t a very nice principal,” Jemma said, and Skye detected a tender spot in her voice. A tiny wound that Skye hadn’t noticed until now. Some friend she was. Jemma always spotted the places where Skye was hurting, but she had missed it when it was her turn to do the same. She took the opportunity to correct her mistake.

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing, exactly. He wanted me to tell where you were, but I couldn’t say it, and he got angry with me. He kept saying I was going to get in trouble too, and his voice was… too sharp. I… I didn’t know what to do. I got… out of sorts.”

Skye inhaled sharply. “Out of sorts” was one of those code words she and Jemma had come to understand between one another. Neither one exactly knew how to describe what happened to Jemma when she got overwhelmed, and Jemma didn’t really like talking about it, so phrases like “out of sorts” often took the place of any real label that either of them spoke. It was better than calling it any of the insensitive or inaccurate terms grownups tried to throw out when they were clearly uncomfortable talking about Jemma’s behavior: _fit, tantrum_ … even something like _episode_ wasn’t much better in Skye’s opinion.

Grownups always made it sound like some petulant, childish thing, like Jemma was just acting out until she got her way, or like she was sick and was suffering a bout of some unfortunate illness. Skye knew that Jemma didn’t act that way on purpose, and that Jemma wasn’t sick. Jemma just acted a little differently sometimes when things upset her. When Skye got upset, she usually ended up in trouble for getting into a fight or doing something stupid like taking a bus to Sheboygan. Honestly, as far as Skye was concerned, having someone melt down a little when they got upset seemed much more appealing than having someone fly off the handle and make reckless decisions the way she did, so she didn’t understand why so many grownups made such a big deal out of the way Jemma chose to cope.

“He upset you?” Skye asked quietly. She knew Jemma was often reluctant to talk about her meltdowns, especially after years of being made to feel badly for having them, but she wanted to make sure Jemma was okay.

“It wasn’t just him, it was… everything. It was too much. And I couldn’t get settled.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like feeling like that.”

“Phil came. He made Mr. Hanes stop saying things that made me feel… bad. He settled things enough that I could… come back.”

“Yeah?” Skye twisted around a little in bed to look at Jemma and try and make out her expression in the dark. She was impressed that Phil had been able to help. That meant both he and May had both managed to figure out how to help Jemma when she had a hard time, which, as far as Skye was aware, was a first for one of Jemma’s foster homes. A mischievous smiled tugged at the corners of Skye’s mouth. “Is my job title as ‘best friend and best calmer downer’ at risk?”

“‘Calmer-downer’ isn’t a word,” Jemma giggled. It was nice to hear her laugh.

“It could be. It’s one of those things that sounds like what it means,” Skye laughed back, trying to keep quiet enough so as not to wake anyone else in the house up.

“Maybe,” Jemma conceded. “Although grammatically, ‘person who calms another down’ makes for better English.”

“English-Shmenglish,” Skye said playfully. “Geez, it’s like you were born in the country the language is named after or something.”

“They do take their grammar seriously in Devon,” remarked Jemma. “And don’t worry, your title as ‘best friend and person who calms another down’ is perfectly safe. It was nice of Phil to help, though.”

“I’m glad he was there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

“You’re here with me now. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Skye disagreed, but she didn’t know how to tell Jemma that there was so much more that mattered. It mattered that Skye had abandoned her – had done the very things she resented her parents so much for – and it mattered that Skye hadn’t treated her with the care and appreciation someone like Jemma deserved. It mattered that Skye had been the reason that Jemma had gotten upset that afternoon and that she hadn’t been there to fix her mistakes. It mattered that there was no one Skye cared about more in the world than Jemma, but that she didn’t know how to prove it. It mattered that it wasn’t being home or having a roof over her head that made Skye feel safe – it was Jemma.

Skye was about to try and explain all of the complicated thoughts that were swirling around in her head when her ears picked up the sound of deep, even breathing. Jemma’s chest rose and fell slowly against Skye, her fingers still intertwined with Skye’s. She was fast asleep.

* * *

Jemma was still asleep when Skye woke up the next morning. Not wanting to wake her, but not being particularly interested in sitting quietly in their room until Jemma woke up, either, Skye slid out of bed gingerly and made her way to the door. She hadn’t even finished coming down the stairs when a sweet, warm smell twisted its way up to her nose, and Skye followed the aromatic trail all the way to the kitchen where, to her surprise, Phil was pouring batter onto a sizzling griddle pan.

“You’re making pancakes,” Skye said. It wasn’t a question, but she didn’t do a very good job of masking her confusion, either. Phil looked up and smiled. A Phil smile, crinkly eyes and broad beam. It felt even warmer than the pancake smell to Skye.

“Hi Skye, good morning,” he glowed. “Yeah, I felt like we could all use some pancakes today. And it’s a Saturday, so I have the time. Do you want to help me?”

“Okay.” Skye came around the counter and drew level with Phil. He handed her the spatula.

“See how the batter’s starting to bubble up on top there? That means it’s almost time to flip ‘em,” he instructed, pointing out the air pockets that were forming. “Once the first few bubbles burst, go ahead and scoop them up, okay?” Skye nodded, focusing hard on the pan. She didn’t want to mess up Phil’s pancakes. It was hard to wait for the bubbles to pop, but she managed to entertain herself by watching the oil dance around the bottom edge of the pancakes, turning them from pasty white to golden brown.

When it was time to flip, Skye clumsily wedged the spatula under the nearest pancake and tried to flip it. Rather than turn over neatly, as Skye had hoped, the pancake folded over onto itself before she had a chance to lift it all the way up, and she was left with a soggy, crumpled heap of half-cooked pancake and raw batter.

“Maybe you should do this part,” Skye mumbled, trying to push the spatula back at Phil.

“It’s okay, give it another try,” encouraged Phil. “Use your wrist a little bit and come at them from a higher angle.”

“But I messed it up.”

“Skye, I can’t even begin to count all of the pancakes I’ve mangled over the years,” Phil chuckled. “Besides, it’s still a pancake, even if the shape’s a little wonky. It’ll still taste good.”

Skye tried again, with only marginally more success, but Phil didn’t seem discouraged in the least.

“You’re already getting better,” he said. “Keep practicing and I may be out of a job as head pancake chef soon.”

“How come you’re being so nice to me?” Skye asked, her eyes glued to the griddle and her third attempt to flip a pancake. She hadn’t really meant to ask that, but she was still so confused by how casually Phil was acting. She hadn’t expected him to shout or anything, of course, but she had assumed he’d at least be a little stern or chilly after everything that had happened yesterday.

“I don’t think I can turn it off,” he joked. When he got a look at the seriousness on Skye’s face, however, he changed his tone. “Well, I like you, for one thing. It’s very easy to be nice to the people I like.” Skye blushed. “And everyone deserves to have someone who’s nice to them, don’t you think?” he continued.

“I guess so,” Skye shrugged. “Not everyone stays nice once you screw up, though.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Phil said thoughtfully. “But I’ve found that the right people usually do. I know I’d be in a sorry spot if all of my friends stopped being nice to me every time I made a mistake. I certainly wouldn’t have gotten a second date with Melinda.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Did you know, I accidentally set our tablecloth on fire while we were on our first ever date? They had to call the fire department and evacuate the whole restaurant. It was such a disaster. The sprinklers went off, Melinda’s hair got drenched… I’m very lucky she decided to continue being nice to me after that debacle.” He was chuckling now, a little lost in the memory, and Skye giggled at the idea of Phil trying to be smooth and lighting a table on fire instead. Skye wished she could see the movie playing in his mind’s eye – it sounded like a funny one, and she knew it had a happy ending. She pried the now-cooked pancakes off of the pan and slid them onto the plate Phil had waiting on the counter.

“Hey, those look like they turned out pretty good,” Phil said, coming back to reality. He gave Skye’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Nice work, kiddo.”

“Is May still asleep?” Skye asked, as Phil tipped another round of batter onto the hot pan. Phil laughed again. Skye loved the sound of his laugh. It was strong and happy, and never made Skye feel like she was the butt of the joke.

“No, she’s been up for a while. Mel gets up earlier than anyone I know,” he told her. “She’s probably just finishing her tai chi. She’ll be down soon.”

“I though May drank her tea at the table?” Skye crinkled her nose, confused.

“Tai chi, like the martial art. Not chai tea,” Phil corrected. Skye felt her face flush, but Phil didn’t seem to think her mistake was as dumb as she felt it was. “She’ll have her tea down here with us, don’t you worry,” he said with a wink. “Actually, that reminds me, I should probably go ahead and put the kettle on.”

He bustled off to take care of the tea kettle, leaving Skye alone at the stove with the pancakes. As carefully as she could muster, Skye swooped the spatula under one of the pancakes and lifted it fully off of the griddle. When she rotated her wrist, the pancake fell back to the pan, landing right where it had come from, perfectly smooth.

“Phil, I did it!” Skye announced proudly. It occurred to her that she probably sounded like a little kid showing off some ugly macaroni art, but she didn’t care. She waved the spatula in the direction of her new masterpiece, which Phil inspected seriously.

“That’s your best one yet,” he grinned. “Now let’s see if you can do two in a row.”

* * *

Everyone else trickled into the kitchen as Skye finished up the pancakes under Phil’s watchful eye. He had been right; she did get better the longer she worked the griddle, although there had still been a few that didn’t escape unscathed. Phil had promised to eat all of the gummy, folded up ones that Skye had messed up, though, and he wouldn’t let her dump them in the trash.

“I promise you, the lumpy ones taste the best,” he said, shoveling all of her messy attempts onto his plate before Skye could protest. “They have personality.”

Once everyone had taken their seats, they all dug into their breakfast, and, much to Skye’s delight, no one had anything but compliments on her cooking. May had her tea, and Phil was polite enough not to bring up Skye’s mix-up between martial arts and hot beverages. She didn’t think anyone here would make fun of her for it, of course, but it was nice not to have to acknowledge that it wasn’t just in reading that she mixed up the letters to things. It was one of the nicest Saturday mornings Skye had ever had, she thought, and she wondered briefly if everyone was going to just choose to ignore all of the awfulness she’d forced them to endure the day before.

She was dispelled of the notion not long after the last few bites of pancake had been polished off and the tone of the room grew suddenly serious.

“Bobbi, Jemma, why don’t you two go and find something on TV?” Phil suggested, setting down his fork. “I think the Avengers are starting soon.”

Wordlessly, Bobbi and Jemma nodded and drifted away to den, leaving Skye in the unfortunately now very familiar position of being left alone at the table with May and Phil for a talking to. She wished that the prospect didn’t fill her with quite so much dread, but she couldn’t help but feel her stomach clench as the two adults turned to face her.

“How’d you sleep last night?” May asked. “Okay?”

Skye nodded. “I was tired, I guess.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” May said with a small smile. “You had a full day yesterday.” Skye blushed. That was an understatement. “We should probably talk about it, don’t you think?” Skye pumped a single shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. Even if they _should_ talk about it, she wasn’t especially interested in rehashing the whole thing. Everything would be so much easier if they just told her what her punishment was and let everyone move on with their day. She already knew what she did was wrong, she already felt bad about it. What was the point of going over every excruciating detail and reminding her of just how many places she had royally flubbed her life?

“What kind of punishment do I get?” she asked. Maybe if she was the one to bring it up first, they could just skip to that part.

“Well first,” Phil said gently, “I think it might be helpful if we think about it more in terms of some consequences rather than a punishment. Melinda and I aren’t trying to penalize you for making mistakes, even if they were some pretty big ones. We’re more interested in helping you understand the impact of them, so that you don’t make those mistakes again. We want you to see that the choices you make carry weight.”

Skye cocked her head to one side, considering what Phil was saying. She had never thought there was much of a difference between a punishment and a consequence, but some of what Phil was saying made a little sense. Either way, she didn’t question it.

“Your computer restrictions from before are going to be extended for another two weeks,” May informed her. “You can use it for homework, and Phil or I will be supervising. If one of us isn’t there to supervise, then we don’t want you using a computer, got it? That means at school, too, Skye.”

“Okay.” She had figured that was coming, after she had blurted out to May in the car about how she had broken the rules of her previous punishment.

“Do you know _why_ we don’t want you using the computer unsupervised?” Phil wanted to know.

Skye thought for a moment. “I guess because I keep doing stuff I’m not supposed to with it,” she muttered. Her ears were hot. She didn’t like having to explain the reason behind her _consequences_. It had never mattered before _why_. Usually she just got told to do something to make up for or make her feel sorry for doing whatever bad thing it was she had done.

“Yes,” Phil nodded. “That’s a big part of it. We know you’re very capable of doing impressive things with a computer, but there have been a few times now that you’ve used those skills to violate our trust. We want you to use the computer supervised for a few more weeks to show us that we can trust you to use it responsibly.”

“Okay,” Skye said again. “What else?”

“You’ll be in charge of the dishwashing rotation for the next two weeks, too,” May said. “Bobbi and Jemma won’t be taking their turns during those weeks. Phil and I are hoping that can give you a chance to do something nice for them, and to show them that you can be counted on.” Skye nodded. She had expected some extra chores. At least with this one, she could start to make up for what she had put Jemma and Bobbi through.

“And the last thing,” Phil said seriously, “is that we’d like for you to write an apology letter to Miss Hill. When you skip school, it’s like you’re telling your teachers that you don’t respect their time or appreciate the work they do to help you learn. I don’t think that’s what you meant to tell Miss Hill yesterday—”

“No!” Skye shook her head. She didn’t think that at all about Miss Hill. If she was being honest, she hadn’t really thought about Miss Hill at all in the grand scheme of things. “I wasn’t skipping because I don’t like her. I skipped because…” She trailed off. She wasn’t really sure if she could articulate exactly what had been going through her mind when she’d cooked up the plan. “I guess I skipped because I wanted to find out about my parents. I thought that was more important than school, and going during the day seemed like the only way I could go without getting caught.”

“Well, it’s up to you how much of that you want to include in your letter, but we do think it’s the right thing to do to let Miss Hill know that you’re sorry for skipping school, and for lying to her about it,” concluded Phil.

“Do those seem like fair consequences to you, Skye?” May asked. Skye nodded. They seemed more than fair. If Skye had been in charge of coming up with the consequences for her actions, she probably would have locked herself in her room and thrown away the key. May asked another question: “Do they help you understand how serious what you did yesterday was?”

“I understand,” Skye said, her voice small. “I won’t do it again. I know it was wrong. I knew it was wrong while I was doing it, but I… I just couldn’t help it.”

“Do you think, going forward, if you’re feeling like there’s something you want to do but know you shouldn’t, you could come to us and talk about it?” Phil wondered aloud. “We might be able to help. We might be able to come up with another solution that doesn’t end with you putting yourself in danger. Because that can’t happen anymore, Skye. We meant it.”

“I guess I could try,” Skye shrugged. She started picking at a spot of dried syrup on the table. She had never known a grownup to want to talk about the impulses for illicit activities that she got. Usually they just wanted you to rat yourself out so they could tell you no or punish you for even thinking about breaking the rules.

“That’s all we ever ask,” May smiled. “And I want you to know, I haven’t given up on finding your parents. Things are going slowly, but I’m still trying. I promised you that I would work on it, and I’m not going to break that promise.”

“I have names,” Skye said suddenly. She hadn’t known until the words were tumbling out into the open that she was going to tell May and Phil about that, but full honesty seemed like the right thing in the moment.

“What?”

“Well, last names. The lady at records, she wouldn’t let me see the full files, but she let me look at some records that had the last names of all the babies. There’s still a lot on my list, but I got it narrowed down some. I cut out all the boys, and the twins, and looked at the months I might have been born in.”

May’s jaw was practically on the floor, and Phil’s eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline. Skye felt her cheeks flush. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything.

“Skye, that’s…” May fumbled around with her words. “Skye, I don’t want you to take this as me encouraging what you did yesterday, because that was still _very_ wrong, but I’m… really impressed with your detective work.” Phil whirled his head around and stared at May like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Skye knew how he felt.

“Again,” May stressed, “I’m not saying what you did was okay. It’s not. And I don’t want you to ever do something so reckless again—” She stared hard at Skye until Skye nodded to let her know that she read her, loud and clear. “—but I can’t believe you managed to actually find something. I’ve been trying to get information from that hospital for weeks—”

“Mel, honey,” Phil interrupted gently, “maybe reconsider the message you’re sending right now.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” May shook herself. The corners of Phil’s mouth twitched as he watched May try to figure out what to say next, and Skye had to bite back a smile herself. She still felt horrible about everything that had happened yesterday, but she would be lying if she’d said that she didn’t feel a glowing ember of pride at the way May was reacting to her news.

“Skye, do you think I could see your list?” May wanted to know. Skye considered for a minute. She hadn’t really planned on showing the list to anybody but Jemma, and maybe Fitz, but if May was going to keep working on finding her parents, then maybe it would help her to have the names. Admittedly, Skye wasn’t sure how much good they were going to do her personally, since her resources were so much more limited than May’s.

“Okay,” she finally said. “But do you think I could have it back when you’re done?” There was something about the notebook and the fact that it might bear her last name in it somewhere – her real last name – that made her hesitant to part with it for good.

“Of course,” May assured her. “I’d just need to borrow it for a few days.”

“And you really think it might help you?” Skye asked, losing her battle to keep her smile in check.

“I don’t know,” cautioned May. “It’s hard to say right now, but any piece of new information is usually a good sign.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Can I make a deal with you, Skye?”

“I guess so.”

“If you let me see your list, and I use it to continue looking for your parents, will you promise to leave the searching up to me from now on? I promise I’ll give you better updates and fill you in on the things I find, but in exchange—”

“I have to stop looking on my own,” Skye finished. She scrunched her nose up in thought. She wasn’t sure she was ready to give up her search entirely to someone else. She had spent her whole life focused on this one thing, and to suddenly turn it over to another person, to abandon it… the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t just not look. I can’t not try.”

“Just think about it,” May said softly. “I want to help you, Skye. But part of that – the biggest part, in fact – means keeping you safe.”

“Maybe you could still help Melinda,” Phil suggested kindly. “You two could work together sometimes. That way you could keep looking Skye, but we could be sure that you were making smart, responsible choices because Melinda would be with you.”

“Maybe,” Skye agreed. The compromise might be the best she could get, given the circumstances. “I guess that could work.”

“You can take some time to decide if you want,” May said. “But I think Phil makes a good point.”

“I have my moments,” he teased. Skye couldn’t help but smile a little.

They all fell silent then, and Skye wondered if that meant they were done talking for the time being. She had just started to get up from the table when Phil stopped her.

“Hang on, Skye, there’s actually one more thing we wanted to talk to you about.” He wasn’t smiling anymore, but he didn’t look mad, either. He had a tentative kind of look on his face, a little sad. The lines on his forehead seemed tense. Skye’s stomach flipped over like one of her pancakes as she sank back into her chair.

“Okay.” She was trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice, but she knew she wasn’t doing a very good job. Something about the reluctance that May and Phil were suddenly exhibiting put all of her senses on high alert.

“We wanted to talk with you about some of the things that were said in the car yesterday.” Skye’s face went crimson. She had hoped that part of the day could have been forgotten until the end of time. She hadn’t meant to admit all of those things to May, and she wasn’t interested in revisiting her myriad of embarrassing confessions.

“That stuff doesn’t matter. We don’t have to talk about it,” she said defensively, trying to deflect.

“It does matter, Skye,” Phil said. The sad look in his eyes was still there. “The things you think and feel and say always matter. And they’re worth talking about.”

“I didn’t even mean any of it anyways,” Skye said stubbornly. “I was just tired and cold, and I was mad that I had been caught. I don’t even know what all I said, but I don’t really mean it.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Skye,” May murmured. Skye bristled. She was pretty sure May hadn’t meant to call her a liar, but the accusation still stung, even if a liar was precisely what Skye was. “I think you did mean it. I think you were being more honest with me in the car than you’ve been with us since you got here.”

“I’m not a liar,” Skye glowered. “I tell you guys the truth… most of the time.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I’m trying to say,” May corrected herself. “I’m not trying to accuse you of being dishonest. I just mean that I think you’ve been hiding a lot of your feelings for a long time, and yesterday was maybe the first time you faced them head-on.”

“Sometimes there are things that hurt us, or bad feelings or scary thoughts that rumble around in our heads, even when we don’t fully realize they’re there,” Phil added. “And they make us feel badly about ourselves or about our lives without us being aware of the impact that they have on us. Sometimes it takes something big, like getting stranded in the rain in a faraway place, to help us acknowledge that those feelings have been inside of us for a long time.”

“So, what then?” Skye asked hotly. “Do you want me to say that I do really think those things I said? Do you want me to tell you that everything I said yesterday is true, because I really am a screwup and nobody I’ve ever known besides Jemma has liked me enough to keep me around for more than a few months?”

“Skye, we’re not trying to upset you, we just want to make sure you’re okay. If those are things that you’re feeling, then maybe…” Skye didn’t hear the rest of May’s sentence. A roaring was filling her ears. She knew where this was going, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m not going to one of those doctors again. You can’t make me.”

“We won’t force you, of course not. But Phil and I think that finding someone who you can talk with might really help you.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have any more punishments – consequences – whatever,” Skye said, failing to mask the hurt in her voice.

“Talking to a therapist isn’t supposed to be a punishment—”

“Why couldn’t you just lock me in my room for a few days or take away my food privileges like a normal foster family? Why are you making me go see a doctor?”

“Skye—” Phil tried to answer her, but he cut himself off midsentence as the weight of her words fully registered and a look of near horror slid onto his face. “Skye, locking you up or taking away your food is not _normal_. Those are not acceptable ways of disciplining a child. Were… were there families that did that to you?”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter. Just, please, don’t make me go see a—”

“It absolutely matters. Skye, if someone treated you that way, that was _wrong_ ,” May said, looking almost as shaken as Phil. “We had no idea. There was nothing in the files about anything like that.”

“There’s a lot missing from those files,” Skye said flatly. “When I looked at them on your computer, I saw all the places where they left things out. No offense to Miss Hand or anybody, but those files are kind of worthless.”

“What do you mean?”

Skye felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She had said too much. She didn’t want to get into every bad thing that had happened to her ever. Not here, not now. The corners of her eyes were getting hot with gathering tears, but she blinked them away angrily. She had done more than enough crying the last couple of days. “Nothing. Just that the people who fill out those forms are usually more interested in whatever we did to get kicked out than in the reasons we wanted to get kicked out in the first place. But I don’t really want to talk about it right now, and I don’t want to go talk to some doctor either.”

“Okay,” Phil said after a long pause. There was a little bit of a sigh hiding in his voice, but not an exasperated one. “If you don’t want to talk anymore, then we don’t have to talk. We can take a break. And if it means that much to you, we won’t force you to go see a therapist. But will you at least think about it? We could find someone good, someone who we trust, and they might be able to help you figure out some of the things that you’re feeling.”

“I’ll think about it,” Skye agreed sullenly. “But I don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”

“We just want to help you, Skye. Whatever that looks like. We want you to feel good about yourself, and to be safe and healthy and happy, because you deserve to have those things,” May told her.

“And if you’re ever ready to talk to us about what’s missing from those files,” Phil added, “we’d be more than happy to listen, okay? We care about you – the whole you. A lot.”

“I guess I’ll think about that, too.”


	43. Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of violence/abuse

She felt horrible about it, but Bobbi had been avoiding Skye. Ever since Skye had come home safe on Friday night, Bobbi could barely make herself look at the younger girl, and it made her feel that terrible, termite-y kind of guilt that ate you up from the inside out. She was happy that Skye was home – the relief that had washed over her when Jemma had knocked on her door that night to say that Skye was safe confirmed that – and she wanted to be able to talk and laugh with Skye the way they had before the whole thing had happened. But she just couldn’t make herself do it.

She couldn’t do it, because every time she looked at Skye, she remembered the icy fear that had slid into her stomach and coated her insides when she first saw Phil’s ashen face in the hallway. She remembered the anvil of dread that had weighed down her bones at the words “she’s gone.” She remembered how frantic and distraught Jemma had seemed when she and Phil had arrived at the principal’s office, how Jemma had seemed a thousand light years away from the rest of the world as she fought to keep a secret that wounded her soul to hold.

Bobbi had understood Jemma in that moment. She had understood the need to squeeze her eyes shut and press her hands against her ears and move only to the rhythm of her own body, all just to keep the world at bay as she tried to grapple with just how overwhelming it was to exist. She understood the desperation that came with trying to hide the truth about something terrible, because you didn’t know what else to do. What she didn’t understand – what she _couldn’t_ understand – was what Skye had done.

At first, when they thought maybe Skye had run away, she couldn’t understand how anyone would walk away from a home like May and Phil’s. Bobbi had never dreamed she could live in a place where no one sneered at her very existence, where no one took a swing at her just because she was there, where no one made her feel worthless for being herself. She thought Skye had understood what a gift a house like May and Phil’s was. Skye had said herself that it was the best place she’d ever lived.

Later, once they had started putting the pieces together and the truth had come out that Skye was on some secret mission to find her birthparents, Bobbi still struggled to understand how Skye could focus so intently on only her own desires and just throw away the concerns and feelings of everyone else around her. She couldn’t understand, and she hated herself for it.

She knew she wasn’t being fair to Skye. Skye had made a mistake, and she hadn’t known it would get so out of hand. Bobbi knew Skye hadn’t meant to scare them, and she hadn’t meant to almost run away. Everyone else had understood. Everyone else had forgiven Skye. But Bobbi hadn’t found a way to do that yet, even though she wished she could. It was a bad feeling to carry around with her, but she didn’t know how to shake it.

The bad feeling stayed with her all though the weekend, and was still stewing around inside by lunchtime on Monday. That particular day, it was just her and Natasha sitting at their usual table, since the boys were all off at a soccer team meeting. The vagueness with which they had responded when Natasha and Bobbi had asked them if the meeting was an officially sanctioned one or not didn’t instill a lot of confidence in them, leaving Bobbi to suspect that it was more likely a strategy session for their next move in the war with Ward. _The Great Football Feud_ , as she had started calling it in her head.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Huh?” Bobbi blinked herself back to reality and realized Natasha was staring at her expectantly.

“You’re a million miles away, Bobbi. What’s up?” Bobbi blushed. She hadn’t meant for her feelings to be on such an obvious display.

“It’s… nothing. Just thinking about Skye, I guess,” she shrugged, suddenly very interested in the uneaten sandwich in front of her.

“I thought you said Skye came home safe?” Natasha asked. All of her friends had heard about Skye going missing last week, since Phil left in the middle of the school day to go find her, and Bobbi had filled everyone in on Skye’s return earlier that morning.

“She did,” Bobbi said slowly. “That’s not exactly… She’s fine. I’m just being dumb.”

“If whatever’s on your mind has you thinking about it that hard, then I bet it’s not dumb,” Natasha smiled comfortingly. “You want to talk about it?” _Talk. Talk. Talk. Maybe she should just talk._

“I don’t know.” Bobbi shrugged again. “Nothing’s very organized. I feel like if I tried to talk about it, it’d just come spilling out in a big mess.”

“I’m pretty organized,” teased Natasha. “I’ve cleaned out Clint’s locker for him since middle school. Somehow he always manages to fill it with useless junk and gym socks and old food by the time I clean it out again, but once I finish it always looks functional, at least for a few days. Maybe I can help you clean out your thoughts.”

“Old food?” Bobbi asked, wrinkling up her nose.

Natasha grimaced. “He’s disgusting. I won’t scar you with the details, but let’s just say I’ve found some colors of mold that were previously unseen by human eyes.” Bobbi shuddered. She wasn’t exactly the paragon of neatness, but she’d never cultured mold in her locker, as far as she knew.

“All that to say,” Natasha pressed, “if I can handle Clint’s fungus farm, I think I can handle whatever’s rolling around in that head of yours.” Bobbi’s fingers twitched, and she wrapped them instinctively around the handles of her crutches. She was eager to start walking around on her own, but she was going to miss having something to grab onto when she wanted to twirl at school. She was trying to decide if she could tell Natasha what was bothering her without revealing some of the deeper reasons behind it. Natasha was sitting there patiently, her face open and calm. _Kind face. Waiting face._ Bobbi took a deep breath. She might as well try.

“I was really scared when Skye was missing last week,” she began. She kept her eyes on her hands, which were squeezing and releasing her crutch handles. It would be so much easier to talk if she had her batons in her hands. “And everyone else was too, of course. I’ve never seen Phil so pale.”

“It’s really frightening when you think you’ve lost someone you care about,” Natasha said quietly, not unkindly. Bobbi nodded.

“And even after we found out she was okay, and she was home… I don’t know, I didn’t feel better like I thought I would.”

“It’s a pretty big thing to just automatically feel better about,” Natasha conceded. “I’m sure it was a rollercoaster waiting to see if your aunt and uncle could find her.” _Aunt and Uncle. Right._

“I just can’t believe she’d do that to them,” Bobbi said quietly. Shame bubbled up in her throat. “I’m mad at her for doing that to them, I think. I’m mad that she would just throw that away. Living with May and Phil is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and—” Bobbi stopped and the feeling drained out of her whole body. Her face was numb. Her arms felt like spaghetti noodles. Her legs were leaden logs. She wanted to reach out and grab her words out of the air, shove them back into her mouth, and swallow them down into the pit of her stomach where they belonged. What had she just done?

Natasha’s face didn’t change. Maybe she hadn’t heard her. Maybe she misunderstood. Maybe Bobbi was still safe.

“I can’t pretend to know exactly what Skye was thinking,” Natasha said finally, once it was clear Bobbi didn’t have anything else to say. “But I know I’ve made plenty of stupid decisions that hurt people over the years. When you don’t come from a stable home, it can make you do things you wouldn’t ordinarily do. Keeping secrets, running off, being reckless… You can see how good things are with Mr. Coulson and his wife. Maybe it’s just taking Skye a little longer to figure out how good the thing she’s got in front of her is.” _Good. Good. Things could be good._

“You’re probably right,” admitted Bobbi. “I think I know that. I just… haven’t been able to let it go, yet. I want to. I feel bad that I’m mad at her.”

“You don’t have to feel bad for having emotions,” Natasha plied gently. “Feelings are complicated. You can’t control them all the time. Just focus on the things you can control. Your actions, the way you treat people, stuff like that. Help Skye see what you see. Help her see how lucky she is.”

Natasha was so calm, so sure of herself. And she was understanding, not just of Bobbi, but of Skye, of their friends. Her words were echoing in Bobbi’s ears. There had been so many things out of Bobbi’s control for so long. Some things still were, but Natasha was right – there were things she could take back. She had to treat people better, starting with her friends. She had to do the right thing. She had to tell the truth.

“There’s… there’s something else,” Bobbi said timorously. She felt warm, and her stomach was clenched with the empty feeling you got right at the start of a big drop on a roller coaster. She squeezed her crutches. She had to do this. Something just felt right, even if her body was telling her it felt wrong.

“I… I said that living with May and Phil is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and… that’s true. But they’re not my aunt and uncle. That’s not true. I’ve been lying to you. To all of you. I wasn’t in a car accident before I came here, and I’m not waiting here until my dad recovers from any injuries. Phil’s not my uncle, he’s… my foster father. And May’s my foster mother. I’m in foster care.” 

There was an agonizing silence between the two for the longest time. Natasha’s face hadn’t changed before, but it changed now. Her eyebrows sunk, settling over her eyes, knit together. The corners of her mouth tightened. _She was mad. Or maybe just serious._ _Probably mad, though._ Bobbi felt sick. Weeks of careful construction and coverups had all been smashed to pieces in one single second of blind stupidity. She never should have said anything.

“I know.”

Bobbi’s jaw went slack. “You… you know? How?”

Natasha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her mouth wasn’t so tight, and Bobbi decided that her face wasn’t mad, it was more solemn, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Just a hunch for a while. You barely ever talked about your life before you moved here. You always got a little weird when anyone called Mr. Coulson your uncle. And then, after I met your foster sisters at tutoring… well, it just made a little more sense.”

“Did they say something?” Bobbi’s head was swimming. She thought she had been so careful. She wasn’t mad at Skye and Jemma, but she had thought they understood why she wanted to hide the truth.

“No,” Natasha said quickly. “They didn’t tell me anything. Not exactly. They got really excited when I told them about me being in foster care and said that I should tell you too, because it would make you ‘feel better.’” She smiled a little then, but it didn’t make Bobbi feel any more at ease. “They were looking out for you.”

“Wait, you told them… You were in foster care?” Bobbi asked.

“For a few years.”

“But why didn’t… I mean, you never said…”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “I’m not the only one.” Bobbi flushed. “I guess maybe I should have said something, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to get you to confess or something. You never seemed like you wanted to talk about it, so I was trying to respect your privacy.”

“Oh.” Bobbi didn’t know what to say. “Um, thanks, I guess.” Natasha didn’t seem upset at all. She didn’t accuse Bobbi of being a liar or of betraying their trust. She didn’t even seem to mind that she had kept Bobbi’s secret right along with her for weeks.

“How long have you been in foster care? If you want to talk about it, I mean.” Natasha leaned back slightly in her chair, opening her shoulders up. It wasn’t like she was pulling away, like Bobbi had feared she might. Instead, it was like her entire self was inviting Bobbi to be really and truly honest for the first time since they’d met.

“This is my first time,” Bobbi said, her cheeks growing warm. “I lived with my dad before. That part was true. He… he wasn’t very good at taking care of me, so this woman from social services came and brought me here. She said it was temporary, until they find somewhere else for me to stay, but… I don’t know if I really want to go anywhere else.”

“That’s good,” Natasha smiled. “Not everybody gets so lucky on their first foster home. You should tell your social worker that you like it here. If she’s good, she’ll listen to you, maybe find something that works.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I had a crummy one for a while, when I was a kid. Got put in some nasty homes. But later I got switched to this really cool lady, and she helped me find my cousins. She helped them get everything lined up so they could become my guardians once they turned 18.”

“So you’re not in foster care anymore?”

“No, my cousins were able to take custody of me when I was 10. That was after two years of all three of us bouncing around the system. They were able to stay together usually, which was nice for them. They’re twins, so they’ve never really been apart. I wasn’t quite so lucky. None of us spoke English at first, since we all got shipped here to get us away from the war with Russia, so that didn’t help either. It’s hard to tell your social worker you’re being abused when the only English words you know are cuss words and ‘no.’” Despite the seriousness of her words, Natasha’s eyes had turned soft, and she was smiling again. Bobbi couldn’t wrap her head around how she could be so at peace with the painful things she was recounting.

“I know it sounds terrible, but things worked out in the end. I have a good family now, and we haven’t had to move since they adopted me. I have friends. I’m going to go to college next year, as long as I get accepted somewhere. My life is good. I think yours can be good, too, if you give it a chance.” _Chance. Take a chance._

“It is good,” Bobbi said softly. “Or at least, I think it is. It’s kind of confusing sometimes, but everything is so much better here than what it was before. My dad…” Her throat snagged. This was the part that she still didn’t know how to say. How did you tell someone that your own father hurt you, just because he didn’t like you? “I tried to pretend for a long time that things were fine with him, but that was a lie, too. Things with him were really, really bad.”

The lump in her throat grew bigger, and she could hear her voice cracking. Her hands were shaking a little. The crutches weren’t helping. She brought her hands up to the table and tried to press her fists into the hard flatness to steady them. Natasha reached out very slowly, deliberately, and placed her hand on the table next to Bobbi’s. She didn’t touch her, just lined her own fingers up parallel to Bobbi’s. It was just about the nicest thing Bobbi could have ever imagined someone doing, and she had to take a shuddery breath to keep from bursting into tears.

“I’m sorry you had to live through that,” Natasha murmured. “And I’m glad you’re not with him anymore. I’m glad you’re here with us.” Something came over Bobbi, a rush of stillness and boldness all blurred together, and she felt herself sliding her clenched hand over towards Natasha’s. She unfurled her fingers until they were laying flat against the table, then closed the rest of the distance between their two hands, resting the long line from her pinky to wrist right against Natasha’s. It wasn’t much, she knew, but somehow she could tell that Natasha understood just how much it meant to Bobbi for even the sides of their hands to touch.

“I think maybe that’s why Skye running off like that bothers me so much,” Bobbi admitted after a minute. “Everything with Phil and May is like living in a dream to me, and I know Skye’s lived in bad places, too. She should know better than to throw that away. She should know not to take them for granted. They were so worried about her. Phil left school to find her. May drove all around Sheboygan just to bring her home. My parents would never have done anything like that.”

“I think it’s okay to be mad about that,” Natasha told her. “It’s okay to want Skye to understand how lucky she is. I also think I can understand how hard it probably is for Skye to see that. If she’s been in foster care her whole life, it’s probably difficult for her to believe that anything good is going to last. Maybe she was just trying to take back a little control, you know? Make something good for herself that no one could take away. I’m not saying she went about it the right way, but she’s just a kid. She’s not going to see things as clearly as someone older.”

“You’re right,” Bobbi said. “I guess I’m still just trying to reconcile the knowing of all that with the feeling of… I don’t know what.”

“She hurt you,” Natasha said simply. “She didn’t intend to, I bet, but she did. She took something that mattered to you and didn’t treat it with the same level of respect. There’s pain in that kind of betrayal of trust. Just because you understand the reason behind it doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt from it.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re a genius?” Bobbi asked, a faint smile finally cracking through her rough exterior.

“God, I wish,” Natasha snorted. “Clint should be telling me that every single day, but he refuses to acknowledge my gifts.” She looked at Bobbi seriously then. “I’m not really a genius. I just get people, I think. One of the perks of having so much life experience at such a young age.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it, thank you,” Bobbi said. “For helping me sort through everything. And for not hating me for lying to you for so long.”

“I’m just glad you felt like you could trust me,” Natasha smiled. “I won’t say anything, by the way. I’ll let you tell the guys on your own time. But, for the record, I don’t think they’d hate you either.”

Almost as if on cue, the doors to the cafeteria banged open, and Mack, Hunter, and Clint spilled into the room, all of them giggling and shoving each other around playfully. They were still acting like goofballs by the time they reached the table and all plunked down around Bobbi and Natasha.

“I take it the soccer meeting went well?” Natasha asked with a smirk.

“Christian Ward isn’t going to know what hit him,” Hunter said gleefully. “This is going to blow the Jell-O thing out of the water.”

“Hey, the Jell-O thing was awesome,” Clint pouted. Mack laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“It totally was,” he agreed, “but this is bigger than gelatinous desserts.”

“Do we even want to know what you’ve cooked up this time?” Bobbi asked.

“Mum’s the word, Bob, but you’ll find out soon enough,” grinned Hunter with a wink. Mack pumped his head up and down excitedly.

“I thought you were a reluctant participant in the prank war,” Natasha pointed out, eyeing Mack with intrigue.

“They messed with my nets, Nat. It’s on, now,” he said seriously. “You don’t mess with a goalie’s nets.”

“It’s just not done,” Hunter added. “Not sporting at all.”

While Bobbi had to agree that the net was a sacred thing, she wasn’t entirely sure she felt comfortable with the level of excitement the boys seemed to share over their latest plot against Christian Ward. She was prevented from expressing the sentiment, however, by the ringing of the bell.

“Come on, Bobbi,” Natasha called as they all got to their feet and started drifting off towards class. “Le français n'attend personne.”

“Ne demandez pas pour qui sonne la cloche; ça sonne pour le français,” Bobbi returned with a dramatic wave of her crutch. Hunter rolled his eyes at the both of them.

“I have no idea why I even bother with you lot, sometimes.”

* * *

After school, Bobbi found herself alone with Phil in his classroom while Skye went to tutoring. She and Jemma had been basically inseparable since Skye’s return, so it didn’t surprise Bobbi that Jemma had gone with her today.

“Anything interesting happen today?” Phil asked absentmindedly, as he looked over some of the worksheets on the Monroe Doctrine that Bobbi’s class had turned in that morning.

“Not really, I guess,” Bobbi shrugged. “We started a unit on echinoderms in bio. You know, starfish and sea urchins and stuff like that. Did you know that all echinoderms have radial symmetry? All of them, totally symmetrical.”

“I did not know that,” Phil chuckled. “You should ask Jemma when you see her. See if you can stump her.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” smiled Bobbi. Phil’s eyes caught her expression, and he mirrored it.

“It’s nice to see that smile of yours come back,” he said casually. “I’ve missed it.” Bobbi blushed furiously and ducked her head. It had never occurred to her that someone would notice that she’d stopped smiling, but to hear Phil point it out made her feel a little self-conscious, and maybe a little touched, too.

“I guess I’ve been a little preoccupied,” Bobbi said. “A lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“Just… I don’t know, school, friends… all that stuff with Skye.”

“That is a lot,” Phil said sympathetically. He paused for a moment, like he was considering whether to say something or not. “Skye’s been on my mind recently, too. And you and Jemma. That was a pretty intense situation for all of you to be in the last couple of days. I’ve talked with the other two, but you and I haven’t really had a chance to go through it all.”

“That’s okay,” Bobbi tried to interject. It was one thing to confess all of her guilt and frustration over the situation to Natasha, but another entirely to say it to someone like Phil.

“No, I should have checked in with you sooner. I’m sorry for not doing that,” he said seriously. “Your feelings are just as important as everyone else’s in our family.” _Family. Family. Family._

“It’s okay,” Bobbi said again. “I talked about it with Natasha a little bit.”

“She’s a good egg,” smiled Phil. “I’m really glad the two of you have become friends.”

“I told her that you were my foster dad, not my uncle,” Bobbi admitted. “She was really nice about it. She used to be in foster care, too, a long time ago, so she kind of understood everything that was going on.”

“Bobbi, that’s great. I’m so proud of you.”

“What for?” Bobbi was confused. Coming clean after weeks of lying wasn’t something to be proud of, it was something to chastise, to question why it had taken so long or why she hadn’t just been honest in the first place.

“For opening up. For being honest. It didn’t bother me to pretend to be your uncle, of course, but I’m really happy you found someone who you trust enough with the real truth. It can be scary to be so vulnerable with another person.”

“So you weren’t upset that I was lying? Or that I made you have to lie, too?”

“No,” Phil said gently. “I understood why you wanted to keep that part of your story private. I just wanted to help you feel more comfortable here. I was hoping that you would make some friends, and if protecting part of your past helped you do that, I wasn’t going to interfere.”

“I’ve never met somebody quite like you before,” Bobbi said quietly, after a minute. “You’re… nice. I mean, not just nice. Way more than nice.” She winced a little at the way she was mincing her words. This wasn’t what she was trying to say. “You pay attention, and you listen, and you’re calm and patient. I guess… you’re just not what I was expecting. For a dad, I mean.”

“Bobbi…” Phil sounded a little choked up, but he cleared his throat. “That’s one of the nicest compliments I think I’ve ever received. Thank you.”

“It’s like…” Bobbi began. Her voice quavered slightly, but she forced herself to try again. She couldn’t explain it, but she suddenly felt like she owed Phil the same honesty she’d given to Natasha earlier that day. “You’re so much better than a normal person needs to be. You’re letting me stay at your house. You’re feeding me and giving me money, even though I used it to help Skye do something really reckless. You helped Jemma when that principal guy was antagonizing her. And you and May dropped everything once you’d heard Skye was missing. You spent the whole day looking for her. Not everybody would do that. My parents wouldn’t do that.”

“You know,” Bobbi continued, somewhat dumbfounded at the rush of words coming out of her mouth. It was like she couldn’t stop them. “I haven’t heard a single thing from my mom since she walked out on us. Not one phone call or birthday card. I don’t even know where she lives anymore. And my dad would never care about me enough to come looking for me if I disappeared, unless he wanted me to come back and make his dinner or something. He… he didn’t even try to visit me when I was in the hospital, and he was the one that put me there.”

“Bobbi…”

“I mean, it’s not like I wanted him to, and he wouldn’t have been allowed to anyway. But he didn’t show up once, at least, not until he thought it was time to take me home. I heard him yelling at the nurses. He didn’t want to pay for my surgeries, either. Sometimes… sometimes I’m not even sure he was happy that I was still alive. Maybe he thought things would be easier if I wasn’t around, too, just like my mom.” Her breathing was ragged in her chest with the effort to keep from crying. “I… I always thought he loved me, deep down, somewhere, but… I don’t know if I believe that anymore. I don’t think he loves me at all.” She hadn’t expected that to come out. She hadn’t ever even fully formed the thought in her own head, but there it was, out in the open, a horrible, rotten, wad of shameful truth.

“I don’t know your dad, Bobbi, and I can’t pretend I know what he thinks or feels, but I do know this,” Phil said. His eyes were heavy, and the lines on his face were straight. A very _serious face_. “I know that you are a spectacular young woman who is intelligent, and strong, and kind. I know that you did not deserve to be treated the way you were. I know that you do deserve to be loved and cared for by someone who sees you for the gift that you are. I don’t know if your dad loves you or not, but if he doesn’t, then he’s wrong. And he’s missing out on one of the greatest kids he could have ever known.”

Tears were leaking down onto Bobbi’s face, and she bent her head forward, her shoulders shaking with silent grief. She had tried for so long to get her father to give her even the slightest indication that he saw her as more than a cook or a maid or an odd-mannered annoyance or a waste of space. Years of time and energy and hope and longing had been poured into him, clinging to the desperate prayer that one day, he could want to see her for real. He never had, but Phil, after just a month of knowing her, and with a few simple words, had just shown her that the Bobbi he saw was a person. A real live, living, breathing, whole and human person who could be worthy of not just respect and decency, but of something as radical as love.

The sound of footsteps flooded her ears, and Bobbi realized that Phil had gotten up from his desk and had come to kneel right beside her. He checked to see if it was okay, then placed his hand gently on Bobbi’s shoulder and held her close.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly. “I’ve been looking for you, Bobbi, and I’ve finally got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Google Translate hasn't failed me, then the French that Nat and Bobbi exchange should read thusly:  
> "'Come on, Bobbi,' Natasha called as they all got to their feet and started drifting off towards class. 'French waits for no one.'  
> 'Ask not for whom the bell tolls, the bell tolls for French,' Bobbi returned..."
> 
> Not a super important detail, but a playful little conversation, I thought :) Plus Hunter doesn't like it when he can't understand them, and I like to mess with him...
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	44. The Guidance Counselor

“I still don’t understand why we have to do this,” Skye grumbled, slouching down in her seat. She was sitting next to Jemma in the back of the car and perfecting what was, in her opinion, a world-class pout. Up in the front seat, however, neither May nor Phil seemed especially impressed by her performance.

“It’s what the school wants us to do,” Phil explained, not for the first time. “You remember what Miss Hill told us at the Parent-Teacher Conference. Mrs. Hinton is going to help you and Jemma find some ways to make school a little better for the both of you.”

“I thought that was what tutoring was for,” Skye said grouchily. “And going to this dumb meeting is making me miss it.”

“Which is why we’re making it up tomorrow afternoon,” Phil sighed. “Skye, we’ve had this conversation before.”

“But Natasha isn’t there on Wednesdays,” Skye tried to protest. “I don’t want to do it with somebody else.”

“I know you don’t Skye, but it’s only for one day,” May said gently. “You’ll still see Natasha on Thursday like normal. She’ll understand.” Skye didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t just upsetting Natasha she was worried about. There was the frightening prospect of being forced to work with someone brand new to consider, even if it was only for a day. She didn’t want to get stuck with someone who wasn’t as nice as Natasha, or someone who thought she was dumb. She especially didn’t want to get stuck with Raina after all the warnings that Bobbi and Natasha had given her. 

There was also the nasty, seeping dread of the meeting itself to contend with. Everyone had been assuring her that the meeting was supposed to help her, and that Mrs. Hinton was nice, but Skye couldn’t shake the nagging trepidation that the meeting would only confirm the very worst things she had always feared about herself. Visions of a cranky woman (who, in Skye’s mind, bore a suspicious resemblance to Sister Margaret) rapping a ruler down on her desk and informing May and Phil that Skye was, in fact, one of the laziest and least intelligent students she had ever had the misfortune to work with, swam in the forefront of Skye’s increasingly wild imagination.

She had been working so hard to be as good as she possibly could ever since the disastrous trip to Sheboygan. She hadn’t talked back, or asked too many questions about anything, or interrupted, or complained about having to do the dishes each night. She wrote out Miss Hill’s apology letter by hand and even recopied it onto nice paper with her best penmanship without having to be asked. She went to bed on time, started doing her homework before Phil had time to tell her to start, and let Jemma and Bobbi pick what they watched on TV. It was kind of exhausting, but Skye knew it was worth it if it meant she could show May and Phil that they didn’t have to regret keeping her around. Unfortunately, she had a sinking feeling that all of her hard work was about to come crashing down as soon as the guidance counselor got a close look at the kind of student she was.

Jemma reached over with her tapping hand and began marking out a delicate beat on Skye’s knee. Jemma didn’t seem nearly as nervous as Skye felt, although she did keep casting anxious glances over towards Skye as they came nearer and nearer to the school. Skye felt a surge of gratitude at the gesture and offered Jemma a weak smile. Ever since Skye had come home, Jemma had been paying extra close attention to her, looking out for all of her usual signs of stress or unhappiness. A part of Skye was a little uncomfortable with the special treatment, but mostly she appreciated what Jemma was doing. It was nice to have her close at hand, and nice to not have to worry about hiding anything from her anymore.

When they got to the school, Phil and May led them to a short hallway that spiked away from the front office that Skye had never gone down before. Jemma’s breath snagged a little when they walked past the door that led to Mr. Hanes’ office, and Skye was filled momentarily with a boiling fury towards the man who’d treated her Jemma so poorly. It wasn’t often that she had an opportunity to come face to face with one of Jemma’s adult tormentors, and Skye knew that the next time she saw Mr. Hanes, it was going to take every ounce of her willpower not to give the man a piece of her mind, even if he was the principal and could probably get her expelled.

They didn’t linger outside Mr. Hanes’ door, luckily, instead turning down the short hall and coming to a stop outside a plain, wooden door with a nameplate that, after a few tries, Skye could see read “Polly Hinton” and then a word starting with a “G” that Skye could only assume was “guidance.” She cringed a little as she thought about how she would have probably spelled the word if she’d been asked to: no “u” for sure, and maybe an extra “e” thrown in for good measure. It wasn’t going to take long at all for Mrs. Hinton to decide that she was the dumbest kid she’d ever met, with spelling like that.

There was a single plastic chair outside the door, but no one made any moves to take it.

“Should we wait, or…?” May asked, looking up and down the hall for signs of life. Phil checked his watch.

“We’re a couple minutes early, so we’ll give it a minute,” he said breezily. Skye could tell he was trying hard to stay upbeat for everyone’s sake, but as nice as the gesture was, it didn’t do much to bolster her spirits. She could hear Jemma murmuring under her breath beside her, counting the floor tiles, so she figured she wasn’t the only one not particularly affected by Phil’s forced cheeriness.

They all fell into a relative quiet for just long enough for Skye to start feeling the crawly feeling that awkward pauses often gave her before May blessedly broke the silence with a question. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

If Skye hadn’t been on her best behavior, she would have given May a woebegone look, but she forced herself to keep her face still and opted to simply shrug instead. “Not really.” Talking about school was almost always at the dead bottom of Skye’s list of things she wanted to talk about, but she supposed it was better than oppressive, earache-inducing silence. More than anything, she wanted to be out of the cramped hallway and out of the school and in the car on the way home.

“Not one interesting thing?” May pressed, smiling slightly. Skye thought maybe she was teasing a little. She almost wanted to tease back some and join in on the joke, but she reminded herself that good kids didn’t poke fun at their foster parents, and she shrugged again. “What was the best part of your day, then? Even if everything was business as usual, there has to be something that was better than the rest.”

Skye couldn’t deny that logic, unfortunately. She thought for a moment, then settled on a safe answer. “Ms. Amador said after we finish our web design unit next week, we’re going to get to build a robot. Just a little one, but she said we get to use some kind of pie program to teach the robot how to follow a path that we make for it.”

“That sounds so cool,” Phil grinned. “I can’t believe the kinds of things you guys get to do in school these days. Back when I was a kid, the most fun thing we had to look forward to was getting a new stone block to carve our hieroglyphs into.”

“Egyptian hieroglyphs haven’t been commonly used since sometime around the 5th century,” Jemma said, looking confused. “That’s over 1,500 years ago, Phil.”

“I know, I’m just teasing,” he said gently. “We used a pencil and paper to write in English, just like you. Sometimes we got to use a typewriter, if it was a really important assignment. I still remember the smell of the correction fluid we’d have to use to cover up any mistakes we made.”

“Why not just backspace them?” Skye wanted to know. “Couldn’t you just retype what you messed up?”

“Not with a typewriter,” explained Phil. “Since it typed the ink directly onto the page when you hit a button, you couldn’t really erase it. They had this white stuff that you could paint over your mistake so that you could type the right letter over the spot without it looking too messy.” He laughed a little at the memory. “I turned in so many papers that were just covered in that stuff in college. If I’d been a little more diligent, I probably could have actually retyped the whole page, so I wouldn’t have to use the correction fluid. That’s what Melinda always did.”

“Excuse me for thinking that a clean sheet was the proper way to turn in an assignment,” May protested. She was laughing along with Phil, though, so Skye knew she wasn’t really upset. “It also helped that I was a much faster typist than you. It didn’t take me nearly as long to retype things.”

“That is very true,” Phil agreed. “I don’t know, I always thought there was something kind of romantic about a paper that held the evidence of your revisions and improvements. The spots of white-out showed that you made the effort to correct the things you messed up and make the paper better. It’s like the creative process captured on the page in real time.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment, dear,” May smiled. “But a pretty lame excuse to give to a professor.”

“Dr. Erskine always seemed to buy it,” Phil teased.

“Dr. Erskine loved sentiment even more than you do, Phil,” May reminded him. They both dissolved into chuckles, and Skye shot Jemma a look to see if she found the grownups to be as mystifying as she did. Judging by Jemma’s raised eyebrows, Skye wasn’t alone in being completely lost. She was saved from having to further decipher the weird complexities of adults’ humor, however, by the opening of Mrs. Hinton’s door.

The woman who stepped out into the hallway – Mrs. Hinton, Skye presumed – was white and had short, dark hair that curled under her chin. She had kind eyes and a patient-looking smile, which helped release some of the tension that was seizing up in Skye’s stomach, and she apparently was one of those women who wore scarves, even though she was inside.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said with a smile, turning to look at each of the four gathered in the hallway individually.

“Polly, hi,” Phil greeted her warmly, shaking her hand. “You remember my wife, Melinda?”

“I do,” Mrs. Hinton nodded and shook May’s hand as well. “Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, Mrs. Hinton turned and directed her attention fully to Skye and Jemma. “Jemma, Skye, it’s very nice to meet you. My name is Mrs. Hinton. I’m the guidance counselor here.”

“Hi,” Skye mumbled. She couldn’t muster much enthusiasm with which to shake Mrs. Hinton’s hand. As nice as she seemed so far, all of Skye’s nerves had returned full force, and it took most of her concentration not to just up and bolt down the hall and away from the school forever.

“Hello,” Jemma echoed shyly. She was staring at the floor, and Skye noticed that her right hand had slipped away into her pocket for some more discreet tapping.

“Miss Hill told me a lot about you,” Mrs. Hinton said. She seemed cheerful, despite the lukewarm greetings she had just received. “I’m very glad to have the opportunity to get to know each of you better.”

When neither Skye nor Jemma spoke, Phil took it upon himself to keep the conversation going. “Well, we’re really grateful for you taking the time to see us. We’re hoping that this will help the girls get the most out of their time in school.”

“I think that’s an excellent goal for the five of us to set,” Mrs. Hinton smiled. “I want this meeting to be as helpful for all of us as possible, so I’m counting on all of you to let me know if something doesn’t sound good. Usually I start with the student – or students, in this case – for a little one on one time. Just to get an idea of where each student is at, you know. We might just talk for a little bit, or I might have you do a couple of activities for me. After that, we can all talk together about some strategies for success. Sometimes parents like to have a chance to speak with my privately, but I always leave that up to the family. How does that sound?”

It sounded like a lot to Skye, and none of it seemed especially appealing. She didn’t really want to talk about school, and she didn’t like the sound of the “activities” Mrs. Hinton had planned, either. She also hated the idea of the grownups all sitting in a room by themselves talking about her. She was used to it, of course. Almost every decision about her life had been made by a room full of grownups, but that didn’t make it any more palatable.

Skye realized that no one was speaking, and looked around to see that everyone was waiting for her and Jemma to answer Mrs. Hinton’s question.

“Oh, uh, fine, I guess,” she shrugged. It was a lie, but she knew it was what everybody wanted her to say. She still had to remember to stay on everyone’s good side, so as much as she wanted to turn on her heel and never see Mrs. Hinton again, she knew that going along with the plan was the smart call to make. Jemma didn’t say anything until Skye nudged her, jostling a “fine” from her as well.

“We’re all a little nervous,” Phil said apologetically.

“I totally understand,” nodded Mrs. Hinton. “Coming to see a guidance counselor can be intimidating. New person to meet, sensitive subjects to talk about. It all makes for a daunting prospect. Is there something that I could do to help make this a little less scary for you Skye, Jemma?”

Bewildered, Skye looked from Mrs. Hinton to Phil to May. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for on their faces. Assurance, maybe, or confirmation that this was all really happening. Mrs. Hinton didn’t talk like a normal school person. She talked like someone who was more interested in understanding the people in front of her rather than the tasks. She talked like someone who wanted to take care of everyone around her. She talked like May and Phil, Skye realized.

“Do… do you think…” Skye trailed off. She was about to request something that she’d asked for several times since coming to live with May and Phil. So far no one had ever denied her wish, but that didn’t make the asking any less imposing. She cut her eyes over to Jemma, to see if they were maybe thinking the same thing. She didn’t want to force Jemma into something she didn’t want to do. Jemma’s eyes looked far away, which made Skye even more nervous, but also told her that Jemma probably wouldn’t mind one way or another. She tried again. “Do you think we could stay together?”

“I don’t see why not,” Mrs. Hinton said comfortingly. “As long as it’s okay with the both of you.”

Fortunately, Jemma nodded without hesitation, and Mrs. Hinton smiled. “Okay, then. Why don’t you two step into my office here, and we’ll get started?”

* * *

Mrs. Hinton’s office wasn’t very large, but it was comfortable. She had her desk in the corner, and there was a small table along the opposite wall with a few chairs. In the middle space, she had somehow managed to fit a small couch – one of those ones with enough room for two people to sit on it, a loveseat, Skye was pretty sure – and a nice rug with a neat pattern of tan and grey lines crisscrossing each other on a creamy background. There was a small orangish bird carved out of wood and tiny little fountain sitting on the corner of Mrs. Hinton’s desk. The fountain was in the shape of some buckets pouring water into each other, and the bubbling sound of running water felt nice to Skye’s ears. She appreciated that there wasn’t complete silence in the room.

“You can sit wherever you’d like for now,” Mrs. Hinton said encouragingly as she pulled her own chair out from behind her desk and positioned it where she could easily talk to the both of them. Not faced with many options, Skye elected to sink down onto the couch, and she pulled Jemma along with her.

“Well, the first thing I’d like to say,” began Mrs. Hinton, once they were settled, “is thank you. I appreciate the two of you coming and spending time with me. I know sitting in an office at school after the day’s over isn’t most people’s idea of a fun way to spend the afternoon.” She smiled, and Skye pulled the corners of her own mouth taut in a feeble reciprocation. She appreciated Mrs. Hinton’s kindness and humor, but the buzzy feeling in her knees and stomach made her wish that they could just skip to the part where they talked about how to fix whatever was wrong with her.

“I’ve spoken with Miss Hill,” Mrs. Hinton continued, “and she’s filled me in a little on each of you from her perspective. I’ve also had a chance to look at some of your records from your previous schools, just to see how things were in some of the different environments you’ve worked in.” Dread clunked down like an anchor inside of Skye. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of Mrs. Hinton looking at their old school records. Those were chock full of notes about Skye’s slowness to learn new things, her poor grades, her countless detentions, and her abysmal test scores, she was sure.

She snuck a look over to Jemma, who was sitting stiffly on the couch beside her. Jemma’s school records were probably much more glowing that Skye’s, but there was a real possibility that some notes about her shyness and struggles to make friends had slipped in as well. Jemma’s eyes weren’t glassy anymore, which was a good sign, but she was staring down at her hands, which were twisting in her lap. One of Jemma’s tricks to try and keep from tapping in front of strangers, Skye knew.

“All of that is important,” said Mrs. Hinton, “but it’s not my priority right now. I’m much more interested to hear from each of you. I’d love it if we could start by just talking about some of the things that you like and don’t like about school here, if that’s okay.”

“You mean like our conferences?” Skye asked. “Where we talk about what we’re good and bad at?”

“If that’s how you want to think of it, we can frame it that way,” nodded Mrs. Hinton. “I’d even be curious just to start with some of your favorite parts of school. Even if they’re not things that we’d talk about in terms of strengths or areas of growth.”

“Oh. Okay.” Skye was a little confused. She wasn’t sure how talking about the things she liked best about school was supposed to help her. “Anything we like about school?”

“Anything. It doesn’t even have to be about your classes.”

“I like being in the same classes as Jemma,” Skye said carefully. She wanted to trust Mrs. Hinton, but something about this conversation felt like a setup. “And I like spending time with our friend Fitz. We have debates at lunch, sometimes. Our other friend Trip comes too, on certain days.”

“A lunchtime debate sounds really interesting,” said Mrs. Hinton. “Tell me a little bit more about that.”

Skye explained how their conversations with Fitz often led them towards topics that leant themselves to heated debate, and how they would take turns arguing for different sides. Mrs. Hinton seemed pleased by the description.

“The best ones are the ones where, we’ll start with one thing, like how if it would be better to be the richest person in the world or the smartest person in the world, and then by the end we’re talking about something totally different, like would it be better to train a monkey to work in your lab or a dog to do all your chores for you. At least, I like those ones. I like when we get to talk about a bunch of different things.”

“What about you Jemma?” Mrs. Hinton asked. “Do you have a favorite kind of debate with your friends?”

“I like when we get to focus on a big question for a long time,” Jemma responded shyly. “Like when we think about if there’s life in outer space, or if the matter in our bone cells once came from a star or a cyanobacterium.”

“Or a monkey,” Skye added, smiling for real this time. “Fitz loves monkeys. He brings them up a lot.”

“What else do you two like about school?” Mrs. Hinton wanted to know, once it was clear Skye and Jemma had finished talking about lunchtime debates.

“Computer science is cool,” Skye shrugged. “I like that we get to do stuff in that class, not just sit still and listen all the time.”

“And you, Jemma?”

“I like my subjects. I like having Skye and Fitz to talk with. I like to learn new things.”

Mrs. Hinton nodded thoughtfully. Skye liked how seriously the woman was taking their conversation – it seemed like she was actually interested about what they had to say, even if they were only talking about lunch and Fitz, mostly.

“What are some things that make school hard for you?” she asked then. “Things that are difficult, or make school not a place that you want to come. Maybe you could start this time, Jemma.”

Jemma’s face flushed, and she interlocked her fingers so tightly against each other that her knuckles turned white. Skye wished desperately that Jemma felt comfortable enough to just tap. She knew it would help, at least a little, and she felt pretty sure that Mrs. Hinton wouldn’t have anything mean to say about it. Not for the first time, a cacophony of unkind thoughts towards Mr. Hanes battered around in Skye’s head. She hated that he had made Jemma so afraid to be herself in school again, especially after all of the progress she had been making.

Suddenly, Skye was struck with what she considered to be a brilliant idea, and she reached over and started tapping on the couch, right by Jemma’s knee. It was just like what Jemma had done in the car to try and help Skye calm down earlier, and Skye hoped it would show Jemma that it was okay to tap in here if she needed to.

Jemma’s gaze snapped over to Skye’s now tapping hand, and her eyes followed the line up from Skye’s hand to her arm and then to her face. Jemma’s expression was nervous, but Skye flashed her one of her best, most Phil-like smiles and nodded. To Skye’s immense satisfaction, Jemma unknotted her fingers and settled her hand next to Skye’s, keeping time with her precisely.

“I don’t like being called on,” Jemma said slowly. Skye could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “I like to write my answers down instead. I don’t like gym class. I don’t really like days where I don’t get to learn anything new… it’s not as interesting to hear things I already know. Days where we don’t follow the normal schedule aren’t as good, either.”

“Is there anything that makes you not want to come to school?”

Skye knew there were several people who made Jemma not want to come to school, but she had no idea if Jemma was going to tell or not. Jemma’s face went red again, and she just shrugged, tapping out a nervous beat. Apparently she was going to keep that to herself.

“We can come back to that question later, perhaps,” Mrs. Hinton said gently. “Jemma, you mentioned that you don’t like the days where you don’t learn new things. That was one of the things that Miss Hill mentioned being concerned about, too. She doesn’t want you to be bored in school. Do you ever feel bored here?”

Jemma tipped her head from side to side slowly, like she was considering how best to respond. Skye could tell that Jemma wanted to be honest, but that she was afraid if she admitted that she wasn’t being particularly challenged by their curriculum, someone like Mrs. Hinton might try and change her classes.

“I guess sometimes,” Jemma finally admitted. “Maybe not bored, exactly. I know it’s always important to review, but I do spend a lot of time reviewing. I… I don’t want to be moved into a different class, though.” The directness with which Jemma finished surprised Skye, and she was impressed that Jemma had found the courage to say what she wanted outright. People could be driven to do things they wouldn’t normally do if the reason to do it was important enough, Skye supposed, and not getting shunted over to the high school was clearly very important to Jemma.

“That’s really good to know, Jemma, thank you telling me that,” Mrs. Hinton said. “If there were some ways to help make school more interesting for you, how would you feel about trying them out?”

“Good, maybe,” Jemma murmured. “I would want to know what they were first.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Hinton assured her. “We wouldn’t do anything differently without making sure it was the right decision beforehand.” Mrs. Hinton twisted around in her chair to grab something off of her desk behind her. A file. Skye’s spine stiffened, and she could hear Jemma’s tapping start to quicken.

“Some of your school records show some of the scores you’ve gotten on standardized tests and aptitude tests and things like that,” Mrs. Hinton explained, as she opened the folder. “Now, I want you to know that these kinds of tests can only tell us so much, and they only measure certain kinds of intelligence, but you seem to always do very well on them, Jemma.”

Jemma didn’t respond. Skye thought she looked a little embarrassed by the mention. Guiltily, Skye felt a fleeting flutter of satisfaction in her heart that Jemma didn’t appear to be interested in celebrating her amazingly high test scores. She was proud of Jemma, of course, and she loved having a super smart friend, but there was a part of Skye that was always happy Jemma wasn’t the type to make a big deal about it or compare between them. That thought always made Skye feel kind of like a bad friend. If she was a better friend, she would just be happy for Jemma all the time, maybe.

“One thing these tests can help us do is get a baseline for things like your reading level, your math proficiency, your critical-thinking skills, things like that. When we have that baseline figured out, we can use that to figure out what level of work you might be best suited for. Does that make sense?” Mrs. Hinton asked.

Jemma nodded. Skye was glad the question wasn’t directed at her, because her answer would have been the complete opposite.

“If it’s okay with you, I have a couple of questions and activities that I thought we could go through together. They’ll help us fill out some of the gaps in your other test scores and give me a better idea of how we can make school a more fruitful experience for you. How does that sound?”

“Fine.” Jemma’s voice was timid, but Skye spotted a steely glint starting to spark in her eye. If there was one thing Jemma always had confidence about, it was her ability to ace an exam. Skye knew she liked the challenge of outsmarting the test writers and figuring out what they were asking of her. Jemma had once told her that deciphering a test question was like solving a puzzle, and the way she’d said it, it sounded like it was the most fun thing in the world. Skye agreed that taking a test was like solving a puzzle, but she and Jemma differed drastically on their opinions regarding the fun level of figuring out that puzzle. Maybe it was an exciting challenge for Jemma, but for Skye, it was like something out of her nightmares, where she was handed a box full of mismatched puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together and was still expected to produce something whole.

Mrs. Hinton beckoned Jemma over to the table by the wall, and began going through a bunch of questions with her while Skye watched. Mrs. Hinton had Jemma figure out what numbers were supposed to come next in what seemed like a random string to Skye (somehow, the next number in a sequence that went _1-2-4-7-11-16-22_ was 29…), and she asked Jemma to pick out the definitions to words that Skye was sure were secretly made up.

“Sesquipedalophobia is probably a fear of long words, or of people who use long words,” Jemma chirped in response to one of Mrs. Hinton’s questions.

“And how did you figure that out?” the guidance counselor wanted to know. She didn’t ask it in an accusatory way, more like she was curious to know how Jemma’s brain catalogued all the information that was zipping along its superhighway.

“Well, a phobia is a fear,” Jemma explained. “And I know the word sesquipedalian is an adjective for describing either a word that’s exceptionally lengthy or polysyllabic or for a person who uses excessively long words. You just have to put the pieces together.”

“If I asked you to come up with a word or phrase that was an antonym to that word, what might you say?”

Jemma thought for a moment. “I suppose if you wanted me to break it down by parts I would tell you it was someone with confidence in short words. A pithy, succinct writer, maybe. Someone with brevity. But if you wanted me to look at the whole, then someone confident in short words wouldn’t be the opposite of someone who was afraid of long words. That might be the same person, because a person afraid of long words might develop a confidence in short ones instead. So an antonym for the whole might be someone who _isn’t_ afraid of long words. Sesquipedalophilia, perhaps. A love of long words.”

Skye felt like the air around her was swimming. She had no idea what Jemma was on about, and she thought it was stupid for someone to invent a super long word for someone who was afraid of long words. If they were afraid, why not make the word a short one? That way they wouldn’t get scared every time they had to explain their phobia.

Mrs. Hinton asked Jemma a few more math questions, and had her do something where she had to put a bunch of mixed-up words in the order that created a sentence that made the most sense. Skye was glad she wasn’t having to do any of Jemma’s questions. She had enough trouble unscrambling words to make the sentences make sense when she was reading normally. Eventually, they finished, and Mrs. Hinton thanked Jemma for her hard work.

“And Skye, thank you for being patient while Jemma and I worked together,” Mrs. Hinton added as she returned to her chair and Jemma sank back onto the couch. “I’d love to hear from you for a little bit now, if that’s okay. You told me some of the things you like best about school, but what are some things that you don’t like about school, or things that you find difficult?”

“I guess pretty much everything else,” Skye mumbled, her ears growing warm. She couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between her and Jemma’s scholastic aptitude in that moment. They had just gotten through nearly fifteen minutes of Jemma talking like she swallowed a dictionary and had a calculator for a brain, and now they had to talk about a kid who could barely read and who still couldn’t remember the difference between a nucleus, a nucleolus, and nucleic acid. “My grades are really bad. They’re all right there.” Skye gestured towards the file that Mrs. Hinton had put back on her desk.

“If it’s all the same to you, Skye, I’m not especially interested in your grades,” Mrs. Hinton smiled. “Or even your test scores, for that matter. Like I said earlier, those kinds of tests only tell us so much, and they don’t do a very good job of showing us all of the different ways a person can be intelligent. I’m more curious about school in general. Do you like school?”

“It’s fine,” Skye shrugged. “I like the parts I told you about. The rest… I mean, I have to do those parts, so it doesn’t really matter if I like them or not. They’re just the parts you have to get through so you can do the stuff you like.”

“If you had the choice, would you stop coming to school?”

Skye felt taken aback by the question. She gave Mrs. Hinton an incredulous look. What kid wouldn’t take the opportunity to do something other than go to school? Well, Jemma, probably. She liked homework and learning too much. But even Fitz, who was just as smart as Jemma, would probably ditch it if he could, Skye thought. It would give him more time to build things and blow up his rockets.

“Maybe that was a silly question,” Mrs. Hinton conceded, laughing a little. “Let me ask you this: What are some things that you wish you could change about school? How would you make school a place you want to come?”

“No homework,” Skye grinned, in spite of herself. “That’s number one. And no tests. I guess we could still do some learning, so stuff like projects would be okay to keep. We could keep reading, too, but only if the teachers did the reading for you, like out loud reading so all you would have to do is listen.” Skye paused, thinking hard about what other overhauls she would make to the school. “If you didn’t want to learn about something, or if it was boring, you could just choose to go to a different class that you thought wasn’t boring. So people who like science or astronomy could spend all their time learning about those things and people who only like history wouldn’t have to waste their time in math. Also there would be more breaks, and more time for lunch, and more pizza in the cafeteria. And kids who are jerks would all be put in the same class, so they would only have each other to pick on.” Skye was enjoying the power that came with being in charge of this new, fictional dream school.

“That all sounds like a pretty great place to come to school,” Mrs. Hinton smiled. “I’m wondering, what is it about certain things, like tests or reading, that make you want to get rid of them?”

“They’re hard,” Skye said after a moment of consideration. “I’m not good at them, and I don’t think they’re very fair to everyone.”

“How do you mean?”

“Just that… I don’t know,” Skye huffed. She felt like she was losing Mrs. Hinton. “I just mean that not everyone is good at tests or reading or math or whatever, but we all have to get the same grades, even if we’re trying just as hard. I don’t want a participation trophy or a pat on the back or anything, that’s not what I’m saying, just that I don’t think it’s fair to give someone an F for not understanding something after they’ve tried really hard to get it.”

“Do you feel like that happens a lot to you? That you try hard at things but don’t get the same results as other people?”

“Yes,” Skye admitted quietly, her face growing red. “I know some people don’t think I try hard at all, but it’s not true. I don’t want to get bad grades, I just can’t help it.”

“Skye does work very diligently,” Jemma piped up, reaching over to give Skye’s hand a squeeze. Skye smiled a little. “She goes to tutoring three days a week, and we always do our homework together at the kitchen table, and Phil checks her work.”

“I have no trouble believing that at all,” Mrs. Hinton said kindly. “You seem like a very determined person, Skye. Some people just learn in different ways or at different speeds, and you’re right, sometimes it’s not fair to expect everyone to learn the same things in the same way. I know it sounds a little counterintuitive, but sometimes treating everyone exactly the same across the board isn’t the most fair way to do things. People are different, so sometimes people need to be treated differently in order to best support their individual needs. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.” Skye knit her brows in thought. When she was little, the rules that had been drilled into her on the playground and at St. Agnes told her that fairness and sameness went hand in hand, so it was a little confusing to think about it the way Mrs. Hinton was describing.

“Sometimes I like to tell people that it’s kind of like if there were three people trying to see over a fence to watch a baseball game. One person is very tall and can see over the fence without any trouble. Another person is medium height, so if they stand on their tiptoes, they can see well enough. The third person is very short, and can’t see over the fence at all. The fence is the same, and some people have no trouble seeing over it, but because people are different, not everyone has the same opportunity to see the baseball game. We could give everyone a big box to stand on, so that they could see, but not everyone needs the box, either. So the most fair thing to do is to give boxes to the people who need them to see, so that everyone can watch the game without any trouble,” Mrs. Hinton explained.

“Or just get rid of the fence,” Skye pointed out. “That would be the most fair of all.”

Mrs. Hinton laughed. “You’re absolutely right. In a perfect world, there would be no fence at all.”

“So are you saying that I’m one of the people who needs a box?” Skye asked hesitantly. “Is that just some nice way of telling me I’m not smart enough to be in school here?”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Hinton assured her. “It’s a way of trying to think about what we’re trying to do when we talk about some strategies that might help you make school feel a little more fair to you. If it’s okay with you, Skye, I’d like to do some activities with you, like I did with Jemma. I’m hoping that they’ll help us start to get an idea about why some things at school are harder for you than some of your classmates.”

“I guess that’s fine.” Skye wasn’t really sure how much of a choice she had. As much as she didn’t want to have to answer the kinds of questions Jemma had been zipping through, which would inevitably demonstrate how incompetent Skye truly was, she couldn’t really see a way around it.

Mrs. Hinton brought some papers over with her and led Skye to a seat at the table. She smiled reassuringly, but it wasn’t particularly effective at settling the nervousness in Skye’s stomach.

“So the first thing I’d like to start with is some reading,” Mrs. Hinton began. She slid a sheet of paper with lines of text on it over towards Skye. “Go ahead and read the first paragraph on there out loud for me, Skye.”

Skye squinted down at the paper and grimaced. There were a lot of words on there that she didn’t recognize. Resigned, she took a deep breath and began to read in the slow, stuttering voice that she hated to use. “‘M… mon… mon-arches are large, be… beautiful…ly colored betterfels…’ Sorry, I mean butterflies…” Skye trailed off, her face hot with embarrassment. “I knew that one. I just got it mixed up for a second,” she tried to explain. Mrs. Hinton waved her off.

“You’re doing great, Skye. I’m not grading you; I just want to hear how you read.”

Mrs. Hinton’s voice sounded kind, but that didn’t stop the air around Skye from growing thick and stifling as she tried to turn her attention back to the paper. She couldn’t find the place where she‘d left off, and she was too flustered to take the time to look. She didn’t want Mrs. Hinton thinking she was even slower than she already was, so she raked her eyes across the paper until she found a new sentence to start with.

“‘The most amazing thing about mon-arch butterflies is the e… en… eno-mus mig-rat… mig-ration…” Skye could feel her heart start to flutter frantically in her chest, like it had been replaced with the wings of the butterflies she was supposed to be reading about. She breathed out sharply through her nose, trying to force her brain to slow down or speed up or whatever it needed to do to start working the way it was supposed to. Reading was always hard, but reading about real stuff, like in science or history, was so much worse, because those readings always used big fancy words to talk about things that should have been normal. At least with stories you got words that people actually used and things that sounded like how people talked.

Without thinking about it, Skye started bouncing her leg up and down under the table, sending her knee almost high enough to brush up against the underside of the tabletop. She could feel the floor shake a little under the jiggling of her foot, and she hoped that the same shaking could knock something loose in her head that would make everything magically make sense.

Somehow, she reached the end of the paragraph Mrs. Hinton had asked her to read, although she was positive that she had messed up most of the words. She was hoping against hope that Mrs. Hinton wouldn’t ask her to repeat back what the paragraph had been about, because she had been so focused on just getting the words out that she had forgotten to pay attention to what they were saying.

Luck must have been on her side in that moment, because Mrs. Hinton moved on from the butterfly thing and started showing Skye some flashcards that had different words on them.

“None of these are real words,” Mrs. Hinton warned her, “so don’t feel too frustrated if they don’t make sense. I just want you to sound them out as if they were a real word that you were trying to read.”

Skye hadn’t thought it was possible, but she was pretty sure she did worse on the flash cards than she did on the butterflies. There weren’t familiar strings of letters to latch onto, the way she would if she was trying to figure a real word out, and a lot of the cards used letters that always felt slippery to Skye. The kinds of letters that wriggled out of her brain the way a bar of soap could shoot out of your hand if you weren’t careful enough, like ‘s’ and ‘z’ or ‘d’ and ‘b.’

Mrs. Hinton had her write some things out – spelling words that Mrs. Hinton read aloud – and then she finished by giving Skye some papers with different shapes on them. She had Skye copy the shapes onto her own paper, then asked her to draw the shapes if they were flipped upside down or rotated horizontally or split into smaller shapes. Skye liked that part, at least. There were no words to screw up while she was drawing squares and rectangles and rhombuses.

“That was really well done Skye, thank you,” Mrs. Hinton said as they finished and returned to their original seats. Skye stared at the floor, embarrassed. She knew that Mrs. Hinton was just saying that to be nice. Almost nothing about her performance on those activities had been ‘well done.’ She could feel the corners of her eyes starting to sting, but she blinked hard to clear away the babyish tears that were threatening to come.

“So girls,” Mrs. Hinton smiled, turning her full attention back on the both of them, “that’s about all I had planned for us to do separately before I ask your foster parents to come in and join us, but I wanted to check with both of you before I did that. Is there anything that you wanted to talk about with me that we haven’t covered yet? Or do you have any questions you want to ask me before I get Phil and Melinda?”

Skye shook her head. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t want to ask questions. All she wanted was to be done and to be out of Mrs. Hinton’s office. She was tired of the cramped-up space and tired of answering pointless questions that just proved how dumb she really was. The crawly, buzzing feeling was coming back into her arms and legs, and Skye had to fight the urge to stand up and bolt right out the door or start jumping off of the furniture.

Jemma must have shaken her head too, because Mrs. Hinton nodded and got to her feet.

“Okay then,” she said, “I’ll be right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey wow, sorry it's taken me so long to get this next chapter up... Things have gotten really busy at work now that we're all back to in person stuff, but hopefully the long wait hasn't deterred you! Slight disclaimer for the fact that I'm not a school guidance counselor, so most of the stuff in this chapter and the next are derived either from my memories of meeting with guidance counselors as a child (memories which are foggy, at best) or from copious internet research. Apologies for anything that I might have botched!
> 
> Thanks for reading :) Next chapter will be up soon!


	45. Parts of the Whole

She was only gone a few seconds – just long enough for Skye to take a deep, shuddery breath and for Jemma to press her hands into the sides of her face momentarily. They both looked at each other after taking their separate moments to release their individual tensions, and Skye was relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one who looked like a nervous wreck. She felt bad that Jemma was uneasy too, of course, but she had to admit there was a certain kind of comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone in her feelings.

Jemma stretched out her hand and took up Skye’s, and Skye gave it a hard squeeze. They breathed in. She let go of the squeeze, but not of Jemma’s hand, and they let out the breath they’d been holding. Their old trick. Jemma smiled.

Mrs. Hinton returned then, with May and Phil in tow. They both looked happy to see Skye and Jemma, although Skye couldn’t help but notice the flicker of apprehension that danced in May’s eyes momentarily.

“It’s a little tight,” Mrs. Hinton apologized, “but feel free to sit wherever you can find a space.” May and Phil both picked their way through the room, pausing to send reassuring smiles Skye and Jemma’s way as they passed them, and settled down in the chairs that had been pushed in at the table.

“The first thing I’d like to tell you all,” began Mrs. Hinton, “is that you have some really remarkable daughters.”

“We certainly think so,” Phil said. Skye couldn’t see his face very well from where she was sitting, but she could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“They’re both very bright, and very considerate,” Mrs. Hinton continued. “I’m really glad I got a chance to meet them both today.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” came May’s voice. If Skye had to guess, she would have said there was a tiny bit of impatience lurking in her otherwise polite tone. She wondered if May was hoping to skip past the pleasantries as much as she was.

“I’ll start with Jemma,” said Mrs. Hinton. “As you’re probably aware, Jemma is incredibly gifted when it comes to academics. She tests well, she reads well beyond grade-level, and her critical thinking skills are very strong. Miss Hill referred her to me because she was concerned that Jemma might not be challenged enough in her current classes, and based on the few things I’ve seen in our short time here, I would tend to agree with her assessment. Jemma, you told me that you spend a lot of time in school going over things that you’ve already learned about. You also told me that you don’t want to change grades, and I want to respect that.”

“Jemma’s doing really well with her current class,” Phil cut in. “And the support system she already has from her friends is important to us.”

“Absolutely,” nodded Mrs. Hinton. “I would advocate for us to find another way to challenge Jemma that doesn’t uproot her life drastically, the way moving up to the high school would.”

Skye heard Jemma breathe a sigh of relief, and Skye squeezed her hand. The feeling was mutual. Skye didn’t want to lose Jemma to the high school after only such a short time of being in the same class together.

“So what do you suggest instead?” May asked.

“I have three potential options that I’d like for you all to consider, but I’m open to hearing your ideas as well,” said Mrs. Hinton. “The first is we arrange for the teachers to send home extra work with Jemma every few weeks. Extra projects, topics to research and study, things like that. Ideally it would be material that was somewhat new, so Jemma could have a chance to explore new content on her own time.”

Skye wrinkled her nose. Maybe Jemma wouldn’t mind having extra homework, but to Skye, that sounded like just about the worst possible thing she could imagine.

“The second is to arrange for Jemma to meet with one of our special education teachers – one who helps run the gifted and talented program for some of the younger grades – during certain times throughout the day to provide her opportunities to work at her own pace instead of the pace of the rest of the class. Jemma would miss parts of her regular classes, but she would be getting extra material in place of her normal work.”

That sounded less terrible than the ‘extra homework’ plan to Skye, but she wasn’t sure she could see Jemma being particularly gung-ho about missing part of her school day. That would disrupt the schedule, and would cut into her time with Fitz, Skye reasoned.

“The third,” Mrs. Hinton finished, “is to set Jemma up with a tutor who can provide her with some extra engagement that she might be missing out on during the day. It could be a private tutor, of course, but I also know that Skye is already set up with the high school program.” She paused, and her eyes twinkled briefly. “Normally the high school program is more for helping students who need some extra practice with things or extra time to catch up, but I feel fairly confident that we could talk with Rosalind over there and work something out, if that sounded appealing.”

“Jemma already comes with me when I go to tutoring,” Skye blurted out, failing to contain her excitement. The grownups all chuckled in that way that grownups do when a kid has done something funny, but they don’t want the kid to know they’re secretly laughing at them. Skye didn’t care – she was too busy thinking of how great it would be to share tutoring with Jemma, really share it – not just have Jemma tag along – to be too bothered by the adults.

“That is true,” Phil agreed. “Jemma’s been going with Skye for moral support, but maybe… well, I don’t know, what do you think, Jemma? Does one of those choices sound good to you?”

Jemma’s face went scarlet, and she ducked her head a little, tapping softly on the edge of the couch. It was a big decision, Skye supposed. She didn’t blame Jemma for not having an answer right away.

“I… I like going with Skye to tutoring,” she said shyly. “Natasha is nice, and she knows a lot of things.”

“Natasha is the high school student Skye’s been working with,” Phil explained for Mrs. Hinton’s benefit.

“I can’t say for sure that you’d be working with the same tutor,” Mrs. Hinton cautioned. “That’s something that you all would have to work out with Rosalind, I think, but I expect there’s something to be said for the built-in familiarity that would come with option number three.”

“What do you think, Jemma?” May asked. “Is that the one you’d like to pick?”

“I get to choose?” Jemma checked. May and Phil nodded.

“They all sound like good options,” Phil told her. “We’d be happy with any of them, so whichever sounds best to you is the one we’ll go with.”

“Number three,” Jemma decided, a smile dancing faintly across her face. Skye couldn’t help but beam. A funny look crossed Jemma’s face, and she turned to face Skye. “Do you think Fitz will be jealous?”

Skye almost burst out laughing at the serious concern with which Jemma has asked the question, but she managed to reign it in. Leave it to Jemma to be concerned about Fitz’s feelings at a time like this.

“Maybe,” Skye admitted, once she had actually considered the possibility. “But he won’t mind. I bet he’d be your friend forever if you let him look at the stuff you do in tutoring though,” she said with a playful nudge. She was pretty sure Fitz would be Jemma’s friend until the end of time no matter what, as long as they still lived here. She had never seen two people who were so obviously made to be friends as the pair of them.

“Well, now that’s decided, I’ll reach out to Rosalind tomorrow and see what we can get set up,” Mrs. Hinton informed them with a smile. “Phil, I’m sure the two of you will be in touch as well.”

“Definitely,” Phil nodded. “I’ll make a point to swing by and speak with her tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Mrs. Hinton said. “Now, if it’s all right with everyone, I’d like to move on to Skye.”

All of the oxygen in Skye’s lungs felt like it had been compressed into a tiny cube of dread that had lodged somewhere in her ribs. Mrs. Hinton was going to tell them just how hopeless Skye really was. She was going to tell them about how she’d blown it on all of her questions and how there was no way Skye would ever be smart enough to pass the eighth grade, so there was really no point in making the effort with her anymore.

“From what I could tell in our short time together, Skye is bright and curious and creative,” Mrs. Hinton began. “She’s clearly got a knack for her computer class, and she has some interesting ideas about how we can make our school better.” Skye couldn’t tell by Mrs. Hinton’s smile if she was teasing or not, but neither Phil nor May was laughing, so Skye thought maybe she was still safe for now.

“She also has a very strong sense of justice,” continued Mrs. Hinton. “I brought up the example of the fence at the baseball game – maybe you’ve heard it before? It’s an analogy for accommodations, equity and inclusion, that sort of thing… Anyhow, Skye made a suggestion to amend the analogy. A way to increase the fairness for everyone in the story that I hadn’t considered. Needless to say, I was impressed.”

Skye twisted a little in her seat to see if she could get a better look at May and Phil’s expressions. She could hardly believe that Mrs. Hinton had so many nice things to say after only talking with her for half an hour, and she was curious if May and Phil were having as much trouble believing the guidance counselor as she was.

“That sounds like Skye,” May said, and Skye could have sworn there was something like pride in her voice. It was an odd thing to hear, unfamiliar and awkward to Skye’s ear, but she couldn’t help but feel something warm and fuzzy swell up a little in her chest at that.

“Miss Hill has been concerned with Skye’s grades, hence her work with the tutoring program, and from the reports that Rosalind has been sending the school, it seems like Skye’s making some good progress over there. For that reason, my primary focus is less on Skye’s grades and more on Skye as a learner,” said Mrs. Hinton. Now the serious parts were coming.

“Miss Hill made some notes in the referral she sent me that Skye sometimes has trouble focusing or staying on task, and that reading and reading comprehension has been somewhat of a challenge for Skye. I’m not in any position to make any official diagnosis, of course, but based on some of the work that Skye and I did with our activities this evening and the notes from Maria and the other teachers, I think there’s a very real possibility that Skye may have some learning disabilities. In particular, I think there are some strong indicators for dyslexia, and potentially for ADHD as well.”

A roaring was starting to build in Skye’s ears, and it felt like her vision was narrowing around her. There was something wrong with her. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t smart, or that she was lazy and unmotivated. It wasn’t just that she had a bad attitude or wasn’t applying herself. Something was actually wrong. Maybe she should have been relieved to know that there was a reason for all of her struggles and shortcomings in school, but that wasn’t what she was feeling at all. With a sickening lurch, Skye realized that there was no way May and Phil would want to keep a broken kid. They had tolerated her faults and flaws up until now, but it was all going to be over, just like that. A terrible nightmare coming true right before her clouding eyes.

“Skye?” Phil’s voice snagged in Skye’s ear and drug her back to reality. “Did you hear what Mrs. Hinton asked you?”

“I… um, no. Sorry,” Skye mumbled. Her face felt hot.

“I asked if you knew what those words meant,” Mrs. Hinton repeated. “They’re not words one hears all the time.”

“No.” All she knew was that the words meant there was something about her that wasn’t right. Something about her that made her not smart enough. She wasn’t smart enough to understand the words that said what was wrong with her, just like how she wasn’t smart enough to read, or get good grades, or to figure out a way to have avoided this whole disaster in the first place, or to convince May and Phil that she could be worth keeping around. She wasn’t even sure she was smart enough to keep Jemma as a friend at this point. Jemma knew more about everything than Skye knew about anything, she always had, but with this new, scary word looming over her and crushing her into a tiny, broken box, what would Jemma think of her now?

“Dyslexia is a learning disability that can make reading very difficult for some students. When people have dyslexia, their brains process language in a different way than people without it, so they might be more likely to mix up letters, or to have trouble remembering things that they’ve just read. Dyslexia makes it hard for people to recognize speech sounds called phonemes, so the connection between the shape of the letter on the page and the sound that letter is supposed to make isn’t always there for a brain with dyslexia.”

Very little of what Mrs. Hinton was making sense, and her explanation did little to quell the bubbling shame that was rising in Skye’s throat. Someone squeezed her hand, reminding her to breathe. Jemma. Of course Jemma still loved her. She would have been silly to ever think otherwise.

“I want to make it very clear that dyslexia in no way reflects on your intelligence,” Mrs. Hinton said seriously. “It simply means that your brain is… wired differently. It makes connections in a way that’s different from other people’s. If it turns out that you do have dyslexia, Skye, then that can help us to understand why certain things in school are harder for you. It has nothing to do with how smart you are and everything to do with the way your mind works.”

“So… I’m not dumb,” Skye said slowly, trying to keep it all straight.

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Hinton assured her. “Like I said earlier, you’ve already demonstrated to me that you’re very bright and creative. That’s not uncommon for people with dyslexia. They might be gifted in areas like art or design or engineering, for example. Things that use spatial reasoning or visual learning. You said yourself that you like working with computers, and you had no trouble at all with the drawing portion of our activities, remember?” Skye nodded.

“I’m not dumb,” she repeated. Her voice dropped, and her ears grew warm. “I’m just broken.”

“What? Skye, no,” Phil said quickly. She heard the scraping sound of a chair, and in an instant, Phil was crouched in front of the couch, a hand resting on Skye’s knee. “Having dyslexia doesn’t make you broken, Skye. Having any kind of learning disability, or any disability at all, for that matter, doesn’t make you broken. It makes you unique. It makes you see the world differently. It sometimes might make navigating the world a little more challenging for you, but that’s the world’s fault, not yours.”

“You matter so much more than a report card or a test score or an IQ number,” May added. She was still sitting out of Skye’s sight, so she couldn’t see her face, but her voice was low and measured. It was the tone she used when she wanted Skye to really listen and understand what was being said. “And you matter because you’re _you_. All of you. Every piece. If dyslexia is a part of you, then that just means our image of the whole you became a little fuller, but it doesn’t change how we feel about you, or how important the whole you is.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mrs. Hinton smiled. “There are lots of students who navigate school with disabilities, and it’s my job to help make sure that the school is giving you the support you need to be successful. Now, like I said, I can’t offer an official diagnosis here, just my observations and experience. For something beyond that, you’d need to have Skye evaluated by a licensed professional. I can give you some names, if that’s something you’d like to pursue.”

“Is that something you’d recommend we do?” Phil asked. He stood up from the floor and perched himself on the arm of the couch next to Skye.

“It is,” nodded Mrs. Hinton. “It can be helpful to have an official diagnosis, both for Skye’s and your own awareness, but also for getting Skye the accommodations she may need. The school requires official documentation in order to move forward with a number of the accommodations we can offer.”

“What kinds of things are we talking about here, exactly?” May wanted to know. She took the question right out of Skye’s mouth.

“Well, if Skye is indeed dyslexic, I would recommend a couple of things. Extra time on tests, for one thing, and preferably in a space that has fewer distractions. I think Skye could also benefit from being able to take her tests orally. We could have someone read the questions aloud for her, for example, or have Skye speak her answers aloud instead of writing them down. I would also recommend providing Rosalind with the diagnosis, should it come, so that she can help to make sure that the tutoring Skye receives is also geared towards helping her develop reading strategies and building up her ability to recognize and interpret those speech sounds, the phonemes, that make up words.”

“How does that sound to you, Skye?” Phil asked, turning to look at her. “Do those seem like some things that might be helpful?”

“I don’t know, I guess,” Skye shrugged. She wasn’t sure how much help extra time on tests would be, since she wasn’t likely to know the answers whether she had fifteen minutes or fifty to come up with them, but the idea of someone reading her test questions out loud for her didn’t sound half bad. At least then she would know for sure what was being asked of her. “How would they figure out if I have it for real?”

“There are doctors that specialize in these kinds of fields,” Mrs. Hinton said. “Child psychologists, usually, with different areas of expertise. You’d visit one of those doctors, talk with them, maybe take some tests or do some activities like the ones you and I did today. It would take a little longer than the time we spent together, but they’d be able to get a clearer picture of the way your brain is working.”

“So I’d have to go to a doctor.” Skye narrowed her eyes. She had already made it clear to Phil and May that she had no intention of going back to one of those shrinks ever again. Or at least, she thought she had. Jemma stiffened beside her, her breathing coming a little sharper in Skye’s ear. As much as Jemma liked learning about medicine and first aid, she’d had just as many unpleasant experiences with those kinds of doctors as Skye had. Skye knew she understood Skye’s hesitation.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hinton. “I have a list of some of the doctors who I like very much and who I like to recommend to people. They’re all very nice and very good at their jobs.”

“I told you I didn’t want to do that,” Skye said, failing to mask the hurt in her voice. She looked from Phil to May and back again.

“We know you did, sweetheart,” Phil soothed. “This is different than what we talked about earlier, though.”

“We won’t force you to do something you don’t want to do, Skye,” May said, “but it sounds like this could really help you. It won’t be about anything other than diagnosing a learning disability, and it can help you get the things you might need from the school.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Mrs. Hinton interceded quickly. “I can give you my list now, but you can take as long as you need to figure out if that’s the right decision for your family. If that is the direction you end up going, I’ll be here to help you navigate the school’s policies and procedures to help get Skye set up with whatever she might need.”

“Thank you, Polly,” Phil said kindly. “We really do appreciate all your help. There’s a lot of new information for us to process, I think, but this has all been really helpful.”

“Yes, thank you,” May echoed.

“I’m glad to have been useful to you all,” Mrs. Hinton smiled. “Are there any other questions or concerns that I could help you all with before we end our time here?”

Skye started to get up, recognizing the line that grownups liked to use when they were politely wrapping things up. She was stopped by the sudden voice of May.

“Actually, yes, there is one more thing that we were hoping you could help us with.” Surprised, Skye turned to look at May and found her wearing one of her stoniest, most serious expressions. Skye slunk back into her seat, more than a little nervous about what was going to come out of May’s mouth next. Her brain was erupting with rapid fireworks of ideas about what was coming, each one wilder than the next.

“Last week, there was a little bit of an incident here at the school,” May began, and Skye felt an ominous, slimy feeling slither into her chest, wrapping around her lungs. She didn’t like where this was going one bit. She thought they had finished talking about her stupid mistake. “Jemma was called into Mr. Hanes’ office to talk about a matter regarding Skye, and he… well, to put it delicately, he treated Jemma very poorly.” Skye’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. This wasn’t the direction she had expected at all, but to her surprise, she found herself trusting that May was doing something good. She slid her gaze over to Jemma, who looked as taken aback as Skye felt. Her finger was suspended in midair, frozen midtap. She hadn’t known this was coming either, apparently.

“To put it less delicately,” Phil added, his expression dark, “he practically traumatized her. I wasn’t there for the whole thing, but by the time I arrived, Ted had already upset Jemma badly. He kept saying things that were, frankly, incredibly insensitive, and not at all productive for the situation.”

“We were wondering if you would know anything about how we could lodge an official complaint about his behavior with the school,” May said. “The way he treated Jemma was unacceptable. From what I’ve gathered, he didn’t respect her boundaries and spoke so aggressively that he actually caused Jemma to… well, she just has a hard time with tense situations, and his behavior only made things worse.”

“I got out of sorts,” Jemma murmured, eyes glued on her lap. Her tapping had resumed. Skye stretched her leg out and bumped her knee against Jemma’s. Jemma glanced over at the nudge and caught the reassuring smile that Skye was telegraphing her way. May and Phil weren’t bothered by Jemma’s reaction to the situation in the office at all – they were upset with Mr. Hanes for causing it.

“Out of sorts how, Jemma?” Mrs. Hinton asked.

“He was angry, and I… I got scared. And overwhelmed. Everything was too…” Jemma trailed off, waving her non-tapping hand aimlessly to try and capture the 'too-muchness' of everything that had happened. “I didn’t want to get in trouble, or to get Skye in trouble, but he kept making me feel bad.”

“He had her in tears by the time I got here,” Phil said, deadly quiet. “He was bullying her. He basically triggered an overload and then accused her of throwing a tantrum. There’s no way that can be allowed, Polly.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Hinton said seriously. “Jemma, I’m very sorry that happened to you and that you were treated that way. Phil, Melinda, there’s a process in place with the school board for reporting complaints about members of the administration. If I were you, I’d start by making sure you have a clear record of everything that happened. I can send you the pages from the school board by-laws that outline the exact process, but I do know that having that account will help tremendously.”

“Thank you,” May said. The stoniness was gone from her face, chipped away and eroded into smooth gratitude. “We appreciate it. We’re not looking to ruin the man’s life, by any means, but we feel very strongly that he should be held accountable for the way he treats his students.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Hinton nodded. “And if you find that you need an advocate with the board, please don’t hesitate to call me. I… I can’t imagine how upset I would be if someone at my daughter’s school had treated her that way.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Phil said, a trace of his usual smile returning to his face. “How is your daughter? Robin, right? She’s, what, five or six?”

The grownups all started to get to their feet then, and Skye wasted no time in popping up alongside them. She was glad that May and Phil were going to do something about rotten Mr. Hanes, but she was more than ready to get out of the tiny office and back home.

“Five. She’ll be six in a few months,” Mrs. Hinton glowed. “She started kindergarten this year. It’s been a big adjustment for her, but she’s got a great in-school aide who’s helping her navigate everything.”

Skye cocked her head to one side, confused. “Kool-Aid? They let her have that at school?”

“In-school aide,” Mrs. Hinton corrected, enunciating more clearly. “Robin’s autistic, so she has a harder time with some parts of school. Her in-school aide is a person who stays with her during the day to help make things easier.”

“Oh,” Skye said. “Does it help?”

“It does,” Mrs. Hinton smiled. “Mr. Coltrane is very good at his job. Robin doesn’t communicate verbally often, so Mr. Coltrane is there to help make sure she gets everything she needs, and to help her understand the things that she needs to do, too. She comes home so happy every day, and she draws these wonderful pictures of all the things she did at school.”

“That sounds pretty cool for her,” Skye said, cracking her own grin. “It’s nice when you can come home happy from school.”

“It is,” agreed Mrs. Hinton. She paused, like she was thinking hard about something. They had all made it out into the hallway, and Skye was itching for everyone to say goodbye. Still, she got the sense that Mrs. Hinton was weighing whether or not to say something more. “You know, this is technically outside the scope of the referral I was given, but Phil, Melinda, if you’d allow me to put on my fellow parent and friend hat, rather than my guidance counselor hat…” She paused again, and Skye watched as she looked from May to Phil, silently seeking confirmation before continuing.

Phil checked with May, who nodded, then smiled. “Of course, Polly. What’s up?”

“Well, I just was thinking… I’m seeing a lot of similarities between my daughter and Jemma. Jemma’s much more verbal than Robin, of course, and they have different personalities and interests, but… well, just some of their mannerisms. The way Jemma described being overwhelmed. Little things like that. If you end up seeing one of the specialists on that list to get a diagnosis for Skye, it might be worth considering having Jemma meet with them, too. I know I found it a lot easier to get Robin some of the extra support she’s needed once she had a formal diagnosis for ASD. I don’t know, just something to think about.”

“Oh.” Phil looked a little surprised. Not upset or anything, just surprised. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting to hear that from Mrs. Hinton. Skye hadn’t been either, to be honest, but she wasn’t sure how much the information meant to her one way or another. Jemma hadn’t acted weird or treated Skye differently once Mrs. Hinton had brought the word “dyslexic” out into the open, so why should Skye do anything but return the favor now that the word “autistic” was out there, too?

“We’ll definitely give that some thought, thanks Polly,” Phil smiled, shaking back whatever surprise had caught hold of him momentarily. “We really appreciate everything you’re doing for our family.”

“It’s my pleasure, really,” Mrs. Hinton said, shaking everyone’s hand in farewell. “And I hope I wasn’t overstepping—”

“No, not at all,” May assured her. “Parents have to help each other. We appreciate your insight. Thank you.”

And with that, finally, finally, they all headed back down the short hallway and out towards the car. Skye could have jumped to the moon she was so grateful to be back outside in the cool evening air and away from the stuffy walls of the school, Mrs. Hinton’s office, and big, suffocating words that were supposed to tell you what kind of a person you were. She didn’t care about those words. She was Skye. She didn’t want to let those words clog up her thoughts and tell her how she was supposed to act or be. She didn’t want to go to a doctor and hear the bad news all over again. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She just wanted to breathe in the sharp, clean oxygen that smelled like old wood and damp earth, to sit next to Jemma in the car on the way home, to watch TV with Bobbi, to climb into bed and let Jemma tell her about the stars that watched over them from every corner of the universe until she fell asleep.

She knew everyone meant well, and she understood that they were all just trying to help her, but as far as Skye was concerned, the only thing she really needed right now was to just be Skye, whatever way that turned out to be. Maybe Skye wasn’t perfect; she wasn’t really even close, she knew, but she’d rather be the Skye with bad grades and scraped knees or the Skye who made impulsive decisions and got in fights to defend her friends than some other version of Skye that other people decided she should be. May had said that it was the whole Skye that mattered, the real Skye. Skye just hoped that turned out to be true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if a week later technically counts as "soon," which is what I promised you, but a week later is just where we're at with life right now... Another tricky chapter to write (again, not a guidance counselor), so hopefully the mistakes aren't too glaring. Also, I hope Skye didn't come off as too down on herself here. There's a lot of information for her to process, but I don't want anyone to get discouraged that she's going to see dyslexia/ADHD/etc. as such a negative for forever. She just needs some time to figure things out.
> 
> Thanks for being here and for reading :) I'm happy to share cyberspace with you <3


	46. Seen

The car ride home was a quiet one, but Skye was grateful for the reprieve. She was sure May and Phil were anxious to talk with her and Jemma about everything that had been said with Mrs. Hinton – that was their signature style, Skye was coming to understand – but they seemed to be holding themselves back. Skye appreciated how much the pair of them took their cues from her and Jemma. Not everyone would have paid close enough attention to tell that neither one was particularly interested in having a conversation.

Jemma was tapping peacefully, her eyes far away but in the kind of way that told Skye that Jemma was thinking hard about a lot of things, not that she was slipping away from the world, so Skye let her be. Skye was doing a lot of thinking, too, if she was being honest. She was trying to roll the different words and pieces of Mrs. Hinton’s explanations around in her mind, trying to smooth them out so they felt less abrasive, or if that wasn’t possible, then maybe to find little cracks that she could wedge her fingers into and cling on until understanding finally melted into her brain.

She had been told for so long, by so many people, that everything she failed at was all her fault. Everything that was hard for her was just because she wasn’t up to the task. She wasn’t good enough. It was hard to unravel that message from the coils it had the rest of her thoughts snared in, but if she understood what Mrs. Hinton had been saying, then maybe it wasn’t really all true. She wasn’t sure. She was still confused, and she could feel a pinching in the space between her eyes the longer she tried to make sense of it all. Even if what Mrs. Hinton had said was true, Skye still wasn’t positive she liked the idea of the school being able to point at her and call out the names of all of the things that were wrong with her, that made her less competent and capable than her classmates.

Some people, like Jemma, liked to be able to name things and label them and categorize them. Doing that helped Jemma understand the world around her, Skye knew. But Skye wasn’t like that. She didn’t like forcing things into one box or another, or deciding that putting things into categories meant you could infer meaning about those things, especially when it came to people. She didn’t want anybody telling her who she was just because she looked a certain way or her brain worked differently – she’d had enough of that over the last 13 years.

“We’re home,” May said, pulling Skye out of her tangled thoughts and forcing Skye to realize that the car had stopped moving a while ago.

“I’m going to go and start on dinner, if anyone would like to help me,” Phil said cheerfully. “Or you can start working on your homework, instead.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, like he knew that there was no way Skye would ever choose homework over cooking. Skye surprised him.

“Can I work on my homework in my room tonight, instead?” she asked. There was a long pause, as May and Phil processed the peculiarity of Skye’s request.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Phil finally said. He looked a little sad, and Skye wondered briefly if she had hurt his feelings. She hoped not, because that wasn’t what she had been trying to do. “Will you still let me look over it once you’re finished?”

“Yeah,” Skye agreed, in an attempt to mend the fence she’d just demolished. She clambered out of the car and headed in towards the house.

Bobbi was waiting in the living room when Skye walked in, and she looked up expectantly.

“How’d it go?” Whatever had been bothering Bobbi ever since Skye had gotten back from Sheboygan had mostly worked itself out in the last day or two, although things were still a little stilted between the pair of them. If Skye hadn’t been so reluctant to talk about the meeting, she would have leapt at the chance to have a normal conversation with her older foster sister again. Instead, she could only manage a short reply.

“I don’t know. Fine, I guess.” Skye stood stiffly in the middle of the room, waiting to see if Bobbi was going to press her, or if she was going to be free to disappear upstairs like she wanted to.

“Oh. Okay. That’s good.”

“Yep.” A few more seconds of tense silence dragged out before both girls gave up and Skye turned stoutly towards the stairs. She didn’t know how to tell Bobbi that she wasn’t being short to be rude or to blow Bobbi off. It wasn’t that she didn’t want things to go back to normal between her and Bobbi, she just didn’t want to talk about the meeting or to have to tell her that she was more messed up than she had originally thought. At a loss for the words to explain herself, Skye didn’t look back once as she vanished up the stairs.

* * *

Back in the car, Jemma watched as Skye had made her way into the house as quickly as she could without outright running to get away from them. Under different circumstances, Jemma might have felt hurt that Skye clearly didn’t want to be around her at the moment, but she could tell that Skye was heating up for a supernova was trying her best to calm down in the only ways she knew how to.

More than being hurt, she was worried for Skye. Not an unfamiliar feeling of course – it was, after all, one of the things she was best at – but she was worried, nonetheless. _1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4._ She was worried that Skye was drawing the wrong conclusions from what had been said in the guidance counselor’s office, and she was worried that Skye was going to start pulling in on herself, pulling away from Jemma and from Phil and May and Bobbi, too. Jemma didn’t know how to balance between giving Skye the space she needed to cool off and working hard to put up a fight for Skye, to pull her back in to the right gravitational orbit.

“Jemma?” May’s voice interrupted her apprehensive musings. The sound was cool and soothing, like gentle stream water babbling along across a stony bed. It helped to temper some of the hot-feeling anxiety that was sparking up in her belly. “Are you ready to come inside?”

“Almost,” Jemma said. She didn’t usually like to spend too much time in the car. Usually cars were too tight and too cramped and felt too unreliable. Every bump in the road or jostling of the tons of metal and fiberglass made her chest a little tighter. She didn’t think about the accident every time she got in the car anymore – it had been a few years since she had been able to recondition her brain to focus on other things during car rides – but she still had to tap to keep the memories of screeching tires, twisted metal, and acrid smoke at bay most of the time. Right now, though, she wanted to give Skye as much of a head start as she could, and if that meant staying in the car a few extra minutes, then that was what Jemma was going to do.

“I know there was a lot of information to process during that meeting with Mrs. Hinton,” May said. “Do you want to talk about anything that happened in there?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jemma said, after a moment (long enough for 28 taps). “I’m still thinking, maybe.”

“What kinds of things are you thinking about?” Phil asked. Since he was in the front seat, Jemma couldn’t see his face very well, but she could practically hear the gentle smile in his voice. She liked how Phil was always so interested in the things that interested her. She wasn’t sure if he really did like all of the same things she did (she suspected not), but either way, he always wanted to know what she had to say, even when it was hard for her to say it.

“Gravity,” Jemma settled on. She didn’t think she should tell about all of her Skye-related worries, at least, not out right. It didn’t seem fair to talk about Skye when she couldn’t be there to explain herself, but she could talk about gravity and still get the same message across. “I’m thinking about forces that pull, and what happens when things get out of orbit, or when orbits change. Gravity is one of the strongest forces in the universe. It holds our world together, keeps the Earth from straying too far away from the lifeforce of the sun. It makes the tides move and the moon change its appearance. When gravity is upset, things can be dangerous. Unpredictable.”

“Things are usually much easier when they can be predicted,” Phil nodded. “It gives us time to prepare.”

“I excel at preparation,” Jemma murmured. May and Phil chuckled, and she blushed, realizing she had said that out loud. 

“We’ve noticed,” May said kindly. “There were some kind of unpredictable things that came up tonight. How are you feeling about that? I’m afraid we didn’t really give you much time for preparation…”

“Fine, I think,” Jemma told her. “I think I need to do more research before I know how I feel. I don’t know very much about the things Mrs. Hinton was saying, beyond the basic biology. I need to know more to understand better. I don’t think they’ve upset my gravity, though.” Only Skye’s gravity was upset, but Jemma didn’t say that part.

“Well, if you feel like your gravity is upset at some point, you know you can come to us, if you want,” Phil said seriously. “We can try and help you put it right.”

“Would you help anybody? If their gravity was upset?” Jemma wondered.

“Of course,” May assured her. “Phil and I both want to help as many people as we can. We wouldn’t want anybody spinning off out of orbit, now, would we?” Jemma watched as May’s eyes flicked up into the rearview mirror and met her own. They were happy eyes. Calm eyes. Eyes that shone like the stars in Ursa Major. A trustworthy constellation. That had been her mother’s favorite one.

“Is there someone you had in mind?” asked Phil. “Someone who might need some help with their gravity?”

Jemma didn’t say anything, just tapped, but she felt like Skye’s name hung in the air regardless. _1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. S-K-Y-E. M-U-S-T S-A-V-E S-K-Y-E._

“I think it’s very compassionate of you to be thinking about Skye right now,” May said quietly. She had understood Jemma’s message. “We’re all going to do our best to make sure she’s okay. Phil and I, and Bobbi, and I know we can count on you, too.” She paused, then turned around in her seat to face Jemma. “We’re not going to lose her, Jemma. We’re not going to lose any of you. We’re going to make sure everyone is anchored right where they need to be.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

Upstairs, Skye sagged behind the safety of her closed bedroom door, sinking limply onto her bed. All she had wanted while they were in the meeting was to go home, but now that they were home, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was tired of thinking about Mrs. Hinton and dyslexia and all of the other doctor-sounding words that had been used that night. She wished she could forget the whole meeting entirely and just keep on thinking that she was a lazy screw-up. It didn’t feel good to think that about herself, of course, but it certainly felt easier at the moment than the alternative.

Skye flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. If she were Jemma, she could count all the little bumps and peaks of the textured plaster that covered the space above her head. That would make her feel better. But she wasn’t Jemma, she was Skye, and counting spots on the ceiling was boring. She rolled over onto her stomach and dangled off the side of the bed, fishing out her computer parts from the spot where she had them tucked away. Working on her computer wasn’t boring, and it would help her take her mind off things.

She’d been running into somewhat of a roadblock with her computer the last few weeks. There were still a bunch of parts that she was missing, and since she wasn’t spending nearly as much time traipsing around back alleys and the junk bins behind pawn shops as she once had, she was a little short on supplies. She had some of the parts, like her fan that she’d pieced together, and the motherboard that she’d managed to pry the broken parts off of, but she had no way to connect them all together, and no way to get any of them hooked up to a better power source than the AA-battery she’d asked to borrow from Ms. Amador at school. All she had in front of her were a bunch of useless parts that didn’t fit into anything that worked, anything that was whole.

Helplessly, she fiddled with the loose wires she’d pulled out of a broken digital clock back at St. Agnes. She twisted the frayed copper around the cathode knob of her battery and held it in place with her thumb, then used her other hand to guide the other end of the wire towards what she hoped was a receiver on her motherboard. When nothing happened, she tested the wire on just about every exposed surface she could find on the motherboard, hoping that somehow, she’d get lucky and see something blink to life and tell her that she had done something right. Nothing did.

Skye scowled at the battery in her hand. She jabbed the wires towards her fan piece next, trying to jump start something there. All she wanted was a tiny whir, but the fan wasn’t cooperating either, and it sat, dead, silent, and unmoving in her hand. Unmitigated frustration and anger flared up inside her chest and, before she could think about what she was doing, Skye squeezed her hand shut, crushing the flimsy spokes of her fan in her fist.

In an instant, Skye regretted it. She dropped the battery onto the bed beside her and cradled the now crumpled fan in her hands, trying to smooth the plastic back out into its intended shape.

“No, no, no,” she hissed, blinking back tears. How could she have done that? She had worked so hard to get the spokes straightened out in the first place, and now she had gone and wrecked everything. It was no use. The fan was beyond saving.

Furious at herself, Skye chucked the fan away from her, sending it flying into the wall across the room. She didn’t want to look at the evidence of her failure – her failure to control her temper, her failure to fix the things that were broken, her failure to make anything work. The fan hit the wall with a dull _thwack_ , and the sound felt good. It was like Skye could feel the impact of the fan hitting the wall in her bones, even though she knew that probably wasn’t possible.

She looked down through her tears at the battery, the motherboard, all of her other broken, useless pieces that she would never be able to put right, and before she knew what she was doing, she was flinging those across the room, too, each one smacking into the wall and making its own unique sound of surrender. She hated her stupid computer project. _Thud._ She hated not being able to do anything right. _Clunk._ She hated all of the pushy grownups at school who wanted her to read better, to get better grades, to be something she wasn’t. _Thwip, thwap, thwop._ She hated herself for turning out to be just as useless, hopeless, pointless as everybody had always told her she would be. _CRACK_.

Panicked, Skye froze and looked around the now debris-strewn room and realized that the last piece she had thrown – a heavy plastic block with a plug hanging off of it that she had once hoped to convert into a power source – had hit a lamp instead, and that the lamp was now in pieces on the floor, along with the rest of Skye’s wreckage. She scrambled to the ground and tried to clean up the mess as best she could, but she didn’t get far before a knock punctuated the air.

“Skye?” came Phil’s voice from behind the door. “Everything okay in there?”

Skye swiped her sleeve brusquely across her streaming eyes, trying to hide the evidence of her crying as well as the evidence of her outburst.

“Skye, can I come in please?” There was a pause as Phil waited for her to answer, but Skye couldn’t get her voice to work. She was too focused on shoving all of the broken things out of sight without cutting herself on a shard of lamp or sticking herself with a sharp wire. She heard the sound of the doorknob turning, and she twisted around to shield the destruction from view.

Phil’s head poked around the door, and it took him a second to spot Skye, kneeling on the floor and hunched over shattered pieces of plastic and ceramic, tears still falling freely from her face.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked concernedly, worry wrinkling his forehead. “Are you okay?” He took a step into the room and surveyed the scene before him. “Here, Skye, scoot back a little. I don’t want you getting hurt on any of that stuff.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, still scrambling to collect everything, as if holding all of the broken pieces together might somehow make them all go away.

“It’s okay,” Phil said softly. His voice was even and gentle, but there was something firm in it, too. A teacher voice that told her he meant business. “Just leave that stuff, all right? Come over here and sit with me for a minute.” He sat on the edge of Skye’s bed and gestured for her to do the same.

“I have to clean it up, I’m sorry,” she said again. She could hear the words that Phil was saying, but for some reason, they weren’t going through, and all she could think about was the mess in front of her. She had to clean it up. She had to be good. May and Phil had told her weeks ago that she wasn’t supposed to throw things in the house, and she had completely disobeyed them yet again.

“Skye, I mean it, we can clean that up later. Put it down for now, okay? Please just come talk to me.” Slowly, Skye lowered her shaking hands and dumped everything she had been holding. Fragments of lamp, loose screws, bits of wire, and chunks of plastic tumbled back onto the floor. “That’s good,” came Phil’s voice. “Just leave it there. Scoot over this way.” Coaxed by Phil’s words, Skye did as she was told. The blind terror that had overtaken her at the prospect of being caught mid-destruction was starting to ebb, and a deep exhaustion was starting to take its place.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Phil said. He held out a hand to help boost Skye to her feet, which she took. Nervously, she perched on the edge of the bed next to him. “Can we talk?”

Skye shrugged. She wasn’t sure she was going to have much to say, but she got the feeling that, unlike earlier, Phil wasn’t going to let her off the hook quite so easily.

“What is all that stuff?” he asked. He sounded like he was actually curious, not like it was an accusation, and the unexpected question was enough to catch Skye off guard and prod her into answering.

“Computer parts. And the lamp. I broke it, I’m sorry.”

“It was kind of an ugly lamp anyway,” Phil said with a wave of his hand. “I mean, don’t tell Melinda I said that, because even though she secretly agrees with me, it was a Christmas gift from her mother a few years ago and she has to at least pretend to like it. But really, it won’t be missed.” He smiled reassuringly, but Skye didn’t exactly feel comforted by the admission. “Where did all the parts come from?”

“Around,” Skye shrugged again. “I was saving them up for a long time. From trash bins and broken stuff and things like that. I’m building –“ Her voice snagged in her throat momentarily as she realized she needed to change her phrasing. “I was going to build a computer one day.”

“Ah, so that’s what you’ve been working on with that computer repair kit we got before school started,” Phil grinned. “I’d been wondering about that.” He didn’t seem mad at all that Skye had been keeping her project a secret from him. “Can you show me how it all works?”

“None of it works anymore. I broke it all. But it wasn’t working before that, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“At least show me what all the pieces were for,” Phil suggested. He leaned over and plucked the cracked motherboard out of the pile on the floor. “What about this? What does this part do?”

“That was the motherboard. It’s supposed to be like the computer’s brain. It processes all the data. I pulled it out of the old computer that the nuns used at St. Agnes. They had to throw it away because one of the other kids found a lighter and got kind of carried away with seeing which things would melt or not. For the record,” she said, allowing herself a small smile, “computer plastic does melt if you hold the flame there long enough. The stone basin with holy water in it at the chapel doesn’t, but the little wafers you’re supposed to eat at Communion burn up in a flash.”

“While I admire the commitment to experimentation,” Phil chuckled, “I’m guessing the nuns didn’t quite see it that way.”

“They’re not big fans of people playing with fire, especially with the holy stuff,” Skye said. “You have to take a bunch of special classes at the church before they even think about letting you near all the fancy candles.”

“I can’t say I blame them,” smiled Phil. “I wouldn’t want anybody burning down the things that were important to me.”

“I guess not,” Skye conceded. She looked down at the fractured piece of hardware in Phil’s hands. “Having your stuff broken doesn’t feel very good.”

“No,” Phil agreed. “It doesn’t. Do you think you’ll be able to fix it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But probably not. It was already broken when I got it, and now it’s just a hundred times worse because of what I did.”

“Do you think you could talk to me about what happened? Why you wanted to break your project that you’ve been working so hard on?”

“I…” Skye faltered. Hot shame flashed up her face. “I didn’t mean to. I know I’m not supposed to throw things. I just… I got so _angry_.” Her voice cracked on the word, but she pushed the embarrassment aside and forced herself to keep going. Phil was being so nice, and she owed it to him to try and talk, as much as she didn’t like what she had to say. “I was trying to work on my computer, because I was trying to calm down, but none of the pieces were working how I wanted them to, and it just made me feel… pointless. Everything in front of me was just a bunch of broken junk, and no matter how hard I worked on it, that wasn’t going to change. It wasn’t going to get better no matter how much I wanted it to. It was stupid for me to think I could ever put all the pieces together, and I don’t like feeling stupid, so I got mad and…” She gestured towards the heap of shattered debris on the floor.

“It sounds like maybe you weren’t really mad at the computer pieces as much as you were mad at something else,” Phil suggested quietly. “Do you think that might be true?”

“Yes,” Skye whispered. “I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at myself for being a bunch of junky pieces that don’t work together. I’m mad at Mrs. Hinton and the school for telling me that there’s something wrong with me. I’m… I’m mad at you and May for making me go.” She hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it slipped out before she could swallow it down. You were never supposed to tell a grownup you were mad with them, especially a foster parent. That almost never ended well. There was a long pause, as Phil thought carefully about what Skye had just said. When he finally spoke, his words caught Skye completely off guard.

“Skye, I’m really proud of you.”

That was not the reaction she had been expecting. She swung her eyes off of the motherboard in Phil’s hands and up to his face instead, searching for an explanation.

“I know it’s not easy to talk about how you’re feeling, but you just did a really great job of explaining yourself to me,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think for a second that you’re a bunch of junky pieces that don’t work together. Also, I’m so very sorry that we made you do something you didn’t want to do. Sometimes we don’t have a lot of choice when it comes to certain obligations, but that doesn’t mean that we couldn’t have talked about it more. That’s my fault, and I apologize.”

“It’s okay,” Skye murmured. “I know you were only doing it because the school said we had to. I was just mad about a lot of things.”

“Which you have every right to be,” Phil told her. “You’re allowed to be angry with the things that upset you, and it sounds like the meeting with Mrs. Hinton did that, whether that was the intention behind the meeting or not.”

“I know you said that having dyslexia and ADHD doesn’t make me broken,” Skye said, an edge of desperation creeping into her voice, “and I want to believe you, but I just… I _feel_ broken. I feel like I can’t do anything right. Nothing I do or say or try ever turns out how I want it to, and I’m just… tired. I’m really tired of being wrong all the time. I’m tired of being a screwup. I’m tired of letting people down.”

“Skye, you aren’t a screwup, and you are not letting anyone down. Not me, not Melinda, not your friends or your teachers or Bobbi, and not Jemma. I know it can be really hard to feel like that’s true, especially when things don’t come as easily to you as you want them to, but I promise you it’s the truth.”

“I just wish things were easier. I wish I didn’t have to fight so hard all the time just to be half as good as everyone else.”

“Hey,” Phil said seriously. He cupped a hand under Skye’s chin and tilted her face up so she could see how much he meant what he was saying. His own face was shining with earnestness and something even deeper than that. He held it all in his eyes, guarded by the soft lines that marked the places where he smiled and laughed. There was something bottomless in the way he was looking at her, something strong and warm that made Skye want to wrap her arms around him and never let go. “You are just as good as everyone else, no matter how hard you try. In fact, if you ask me, I think you’re better than most everybody else. I think you’re exceptional, Skye. I think you’re amazing, and nothing you ever do or don’t do, no test you ever take, no grade you ever get, no invention you ever build… or scrap,” he added, a playful twinkle in his gaze, “will ever take away from or change how amazing you are to me.”

The urge that Skye had been fighting suddenly gave way, then, and she flung herself over towards Phil, squeezing him tight around the middle and burying her face in his shirt. Tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they weren’t tears of anger or frustration or pain. They weren’t happy, exactly, there was something still heavy and melancholy tinging them, but they were filled with a comfort, a settling kind of understanding that made Skye feel seen. It was the kind of seeing she had only ever thought would come from Jemma. The kind of seeing that wasn’t blind to her faults and shortcomings, but that still didn’t want to look away. It wasn’t the first time Phil had ever told her something like that, but it was the first time Skye felt like it wasn’t all just empty air anymore.

They sat like that for a while, Skye holding onto Phil and crying softly into his button-down, Phil holding her back, stroking her hair with his free hand. Eventually, the tears stopped falling, and Skye pulled away slightly to grind the last remaining dregs of saltiness out from her eyes with a fist.

“You told me you wished things were easier,” Phil murmured, his hand now resting on her shoulder. “I can’t promise that things aren’t still going to be hard sometimes, but I think that some of the things Mrs. Hinton suggested to us tonight might help with that. We don’t have to decide anything tonight, but I want us – you, me, and Melinda – to at least think about it. To talk about it. I want things to be easier for you, too, Skye. I want to be able to help you. That’s part of my job. Do you think we could at least do that? At least promise to have a conversation about it?”

Skye thought for a minute, then nodded, and Phil’s face broke into one of his sunniest smiles. It was as if Skye had just given him the world, instead of the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey wow, we're back! Sorry that took so much longer than I was planning for it to - turns out working 55 hours/6 days a week really cuts into one's productivity time... go figure ;) Anyway, thanks for your patience! I'm happy you're here and I hope you like the chapter!


	47. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of ableism

The rest of the evening passed calmly, which Skye was extremely grateful for. The excitement of everything that had happened that day had her feeling tired and worn down, so she appreciated the soft slowness of Phil helping her clean up the mess she had made, a quiet dinner, and finishing her homework under Jemma’s gentle cheerleading. By the time she climbed into bed that night, she was more than ready to power down and let a good night of sleep reboot her.

It was May who came in to check on them and say goodnight, and she went out of her way to remind Skye and Jemma of the things she and Phil had told them earlier that evening – that they were special and capable and she didn’t care what kinds of labels the school might want to put on them.

“I don’t want to exhaust the point,” she said sheepishly, “but it’s important to me that you both understand how proud Phil and I are of you, and how much we care about you.”

“We understand,” Jemma assured her. She was curled on her side in bed, watching May intently. Her hand was tucked up near her face, her pointer finger wrapped around the bridge of her nose and tapping lightly. A happy, sleepy, tap, Skye knew.

May looked to Skye, to make sure that she understood, too. Skye’s throat felt thick as May turned her gaze on her, so she opted to simply nod instead. She made sure to hold May’s eye contact to let her know that she was telling the truth, even if she wasn’t saying anything out loud. She couldn’t promise that she would suddenly start feeling better about herself all the time, but something about her conversation with Phil had forced some things to click into place. The most important of those things, Skye realized, was that she had to start believing May and Phil when they told her good things. Even when she was having trouble accepting the good thing, she had to know that they meant what they said. They were like Jemma that way – they weren’t going to tell her things that they didn’t mean.

May seemed satisfied by Skye’s nonverbal response and bid them goodnight, leaving the two girls alone in the semi-darkness.

“Do you think you’ll be able to fix your computer?” Jemma asked softly, after a beat.

“I don’t know, but probably not,” Skye admitted. Her heart ached a little at the thought of all of her precious work sitting in a shoebox in pieces under her bed. Phil hadn’t let her throw everything away once they’d cleaned it all up, instead digging out an old shoebox with a lid to hold everything. He said she might change her mind about it later on, once she’d had some time to think about everything. “I messed everything up pretty badly.”

“Well, the pieces were broken before, and you were able to fix them that time,” Jemma offered. “You’re good at putting things back together.” Skye couldn’t help but smile a little at Jemma’s words of encouragement. It was so much easier to believe Jemma than anybody else. She had a lot of practicing to do if she was ever going to feel that way about people like Phil or May.

“Are you feeling okay? About everything that Mrs. Hinton said, I mean?”

“I think so,” Jemma said, taking her time. “She was nice, and I liked the exercises she had me do. I think maybe I don’t have as much to process as you. And I want to do some more research before I decide on my feelings.”

Skye had to bite back a giggle at that. It was so typical of Jemma to decide to just choose what feelings she was going to have after she’d done the proper amount of research. She knew that wasn’t exactly what Jemma meant – Jemma knew that she couldn’t just pick out what feelings she wanted to have, of course – but the idea of not settling on any emotion until you’d fully thought it through and collected all the available data was a very Jemma way to approach something. Skye figured it probably had something to do with the fact that there were times where Jemma wasn’t in control of her emotions, like when she was nervous or having a meltdown, times that Jemma didn’t like one bit. So, to make up for it, she tried to arrange her feelings neatly all the other times.

Skye wished she could think about her own feelings as systematically as Jemma did. Usually her feelings just came out in a tangled knot of old yarn, frayed string, crooked wires, and sticky shoelaces. Sometimes when she tried to pull on one of the strands, everything just got tighter and tighter and more tangled, and other times, pulling one thread loose made everything else fall apart into a heap. The only in-between was to leave the knot as it was, with everything snared in on itself and nothing making much sense, but Skye wasn’t sure that was any real way to live.

* * *

The next morning at the melted table, Fitz wasted no time in asking them the question Skye had been sure was going to fly out of his mouth as soon as they saw him.

“So? How’d it go yesterday?” They had told Fitz about having to go see Mrs. Hinton earlier in the week, and he had seemed very curious about what their meeting was going to entail.

“It was all right,” Jemma said simply. “It was a little daunting at first, but Mrs. Hinton was very nice.”

“I like her,” Fitz agreed, pumping his head up and down. “I have to meet with her at the start of every school year to make sure I’m still fine to be in the grade ahead of where I’m meant to be. Usually she just asks me about how I did in my classes the year before, and sometimes she gives me puzzles to work out.”

“Jemma had to do some of those,” Skye said. She puffed up with pride on Jemma’s behalf and grinned. “She figured them out super fast. Like, ‘before I even understood the question’ kind of fast.”

“It was nothing,” Jemma blushed. “Just some logic puzzles. Numeric sequences, language decoding, that sort of thing.”

“Those are the best ones!” Fitz was getting excited, almost vibrating on the bench. The breath that hung in the chilly air around him gave Skye the mental image of a steam engine pouring smoke and about to combust. She bit down on her lip to keep from laughing at the picture. “Do you remember which ones you had? You could quiz me on them.”

Jemma, of course, remembered them precisely, and she rattled them off for Fitz to work out. He got a kick out of flexing his brain muscles for them, and Skye got a kick out of watching Jemma put him through his paces. By the time he had successfully answered the last of Jemma’s questions, they were all grinning and giggling like goobers, having the time of their life.

“So,” Fitz tittered, catching his breath and trying to keep a straight face. “So what did she say after your puzzles? Do you get to stay in class with us?”

“Yes,” beamed Jemma. “I’m going to tutoring with Skye and I’m getting to learn extra things there, but I don’t have to change classes again.”

“What kinds of extra things?” Just as Jemma had predicted, Fitz looked a little crestfallen and more than a little jealous at the news that she was getting to learn new things without him.

“I don’t know yet. We haven’t started. Phil said that he would talk to Ms. Price about it this week and then I could start for real next week.” Jemma paused, taking in the pouty look on Fitz’s face. “Don’t look so gloomy,” she soothed. “I already told Skye I was going to save all of my work and share it with you. That way we can learn new things together.”

Fitz immediately perked back up. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Jemma smiled shyly. “What good is learning new things if you can’t share them?”

Fitz’s eyes were positively dewy at that, and Skye couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle her two best friends over how sappy and nerdy they were being with each other.

“All right, eggheads, let’s not get carried away,” she smirked. “It’s just some extra worksheets, not the discovery of a new planet or anything.” But even as she said it, she knew it was more than just worksheets for the both of them. It was the discovery of a common language, a shared love for something beyond themselves. It was a gesture of their friendship. If someone had tried to become friends with Skye by giving her extra schoolwork, she would have laughed in their face, but for Fitz and Jemma, it was an invitation to share in something that was deeply important to the both of them.

“Oh, hey, what about you, Skye?” Fitz asked, snapping out of his reverie. “Did you do puzzles with Mrs. Hinton, too?”

“Not exactly.” Skye scuffed the toe of her sneaker along the blacktop. She could feel her ears getting warm, despite the chill in the air. She didn’t think Fitz would tease her, but she was still on the fence about telling him everything that had transpired with the guidance counselor. “She made me do stuff that was more like regular tests. Reading and spelling and stuff like that. She had me draw some stuff, too.”

“Was that to see if tutoring is helping?” Fitz’s brow was scrunched up in confusion. “I thought your grades were supposed to show if it was working or not.”

“It was more like she wanted to see what things I had trouble with,” Skye explained. “She wanted to see what was wrong with me.”

“She was trying to understand Skye as a learner,” Jemma corrected gently. “That’s what she told us.”

“Did it help any?”

“I don’t know,” Skye shrugged. She glanced from Jemma to Fitz and back again. They were both looking at her with solid, warm smiles. They were her friends. She decided that Fitz deserved the truth. “She’s thinks I might have learning disabilities, and that’s why I’m not good with school stuff. She thinks my brain doesn’t work like other people’s.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad then,” Fitz said, an excited gleam flashing in his eyes and his smile widening. Skye looked at him incredulously.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Fitz told her, “that there’s a scientific, biological explanation for why you’ve been struggling. It means it’s not some kind of a moral failing, or a lack of measurable intelligence. It means there’s nothing wrong with you, you’re just different now.”

“Oh.” Fitz was saying some of the same things that Mrs. Hinton had tried explaining the night before, but for some reason, when Fitz said it, everything made better sense. Skye wasn’t sure if she agreed with him completely, but she at least could see what he meant when he said that her potential new diagnosis wasn’t so bad.

“I mean, obviously, there are some challenges that go with learning disabilities,” Fitz clarified, on a silent cue from Jemma to soften his words a bit. “But there are ways to accommodate for that, aren’t there? Things that can help to balance the scales, right?”

“I guess,” Skye said. “I think that’s one of the things Mrs. Hinton was talking about. I don’t know, I kind of tuned some of it out. She said a lot of things. I didn’t exactly catch them all.”

“There’s no official diagnosis,” Jemma added. “We’d have to see a different person for that.”

“Which is on my list of things I’d rather have a porcupine as a pillow than do instead,” Skye interjected.

“A porcupine would make a terrible pillow. You’d need serious medical attention after getting quills in your face, plus living things don’t typically appreciate being slept on,” Fitz pointed out.

“Exactly my point,” Skye said dryly.

“You know, if you _had_ to use an animal for your pillow, a monkey could potentially—”

“Fitz!”

* * *

When Flex Time rolled around that afternoon, Skye, Jemma, and Fitz all found themselves with hall passes to the library clutched in their hands. They had decided at lunch, per Jemma’s suggestion, that they would use their Flex Time to do some research.

“Research leads to understanding,” Jemma explained. “Understanding is good. Understanding helps you feel better.”

“Well, understanding helps _you_ feel better,” Skye teased. “I’m not a big research fan myself, but I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

Since Skye was determined not to break the rules of her punishment again, she traipsed over to the nonfiction books in the library and began searching for something that might tell her more about ADHD or dyslexia, while Jemma and Fitz settled in front of a pair of computers. There was a special kind of irony, Skye thought, in forcing the kid who could barely read to be the one to use books to look up information on dyslexia. She couldn’t even figure out how the books were organized, each one with a sticker bearing a string of numbers and letters that didn’t make a lick of sense.

Eventually she figured out that the nonfiction books were grouped more by subject than by the author’s name, like regular fiction books were, and she did her best to find the section holding books that looked like they had something to do with doctors and medicine and things like that. Titling her head so she could look at the books on the shelf, she ran her finger past the spines that held titles like “The Skeletal System” or “What is Cancer?” plus what felt like a hundred more that she didn’t feel like trying to (or simply couldn’t) decipher. This was pointless.

Frustrated at the fruitlessness of her attempts, Skye drifted back over to where Jemma and Fitz were pecking away at their computers. Just because she couldn’t use one didn’t mean she couldn’t be near one, she figured. Plus, she wasn’t getting anywhere looking at the books by herself.

“Any luck so far?” Fitz asked. His eyes were still glued on his computer screen, zipping back and forth as he read at what Skye considered to be a superhuman pace.

“No,” Skye grumped, plopping down in the seat next to him. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, I guess.” She propped her chin up on her fist and craned her neck to get a better look at the screen. “What about you guys?”

“There’s some interesting articles about the neurobiology behind dyslexia,” Jemma offered. “Your brain is probably fascinating, Skye. I’d love to look at a scan of it.” Skye raised her eyebrows at that, but Jemma barreled ahead, barely noticing her. “Some of the articles I found talk about difficulties with phonological processing, like Mrs. Hinton was saying. They also said that there are lots of different strategies to help strengthen your language skills over time.”

“I found a website that says anywhere from 10-20% of people in the US have dyslexia,” Fitz added. His face lit up as he continued. “One site even said that Albert Einstein was dyslexic. Can you believe it? He was almost kicked out of school because he had such a hard time.”

“The E=mc2 guy?” Skye asked incredulously.

“Basically one of the most brilliant minds to ever postulate,” glowed Jemma. “Can you imagine where we would be without the Theory of Relativity?”

“We’d be practically in the dark ages,” agreed Fitz. “His work revolutionized theoretical physics, gave us an understanding of the relationship between time and space—”

“—helped to explain the law of gravitation and how gravity relates to other natural forces—”

“—ushered in the atomic age, not to mention a new era of astrophysics—”

“—plus his work led to leaps in innovation. We wouldn’t have electron microscopes or particle accelerators without an understanding of relativity—”

“Guys, time out, seriously,” Skye interrupted, using her hands to make a ‘T’ shape in front of them. “As cool as you’re making all of that sound, I literally have no idea what any of it means.”

“The point is, the man was insanely smart,” Fitz said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I got that,” Skye deadpanned. “I’m pretty sure everybody knows that Einstein was smart. People literally use his name to describe smart people.”

“It’s a fascinating example of antonomasia,” Jemma agreed. “His name’s practically become an archetype in and of itself.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Fitz cut in, slightly exasperated, “is that the man who people think of when they think of smart people was dyslexic, just like you might be, Skye. So you’re in good company.”

“Oh.” Skye paused, considering. “Thanks, Fitz. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“It’s just the truth,” Fitz shrugged, blushing a little. “I also found a bunch of very successful people who had ADHD as well, so you don’t need to feel alone about that, either.”

Skye couldn’t help but smile at Fitz’s kind gestures. She should have known he would be nothing but supportive.

“I read some interesting things about ADHD as well,” Jemma piped. “Apparently there are some theories out there regarding brain chemistry that suggest that in people with ADHD, the brain isn’t able to produce or transmit enough dopamine, which causes them to feel woefully under-stimulated most of the time. Another theory attributes it to catecholamine disruption, or to a neurodevelopmental delay, or even to differences in brain size.”

“Am I supposed to understand any of that?” Skye joked.

“It sounds like scientists don’t fully understand it themselves,” mused Fitz. “If there are still so many theories out there, I mean. They must still be learning like we are.”

“Not exactly comforting information,” mumbled Skye.

“There wasn’t anything in the books that was helpful?” Jemma asked, tearing her eyes away from the screen in front of her. Skye shook her head.

“I didn’t find anything that looked right,” she admitted, “so I didn’t actually open any, but nothing seemed like it had what we wanted. It doesn’t matter, though, because it sounds like you two already found everything we need online instead.”

“We should at least check,” Jemma said, a little defensively. She was very protective of books and their value as a research tool. Skye chewed on her lip to keep from smiling at how put-out Jemma looked at the suggestion that the internet could fully replace the need for hard-copy research. “Will you show me where you were looking?”

“Fine,” Skye conceded. She lost her battle to keep her smile in check and flashed Jemma a mischievous grin. “You don’t believe me, but I’ll prove it to you that those books won’t help us any.”

“I’ll stay here and start looking for information on autism,” Fitz called softly as Skye and Jemma drifted away. He didn’t want to incur the wrath of Mrs. Bergmann, Skye was sure. She didn’t want to either, if she was being honest. The librarian seemed nice enough, but for some reason Skye always felt uneasy around her. Maybe it was the rules about being quiet, which she had never excelled at following, or the fact that librarians always seemed so smart and serious about their books, but whatever the case, Skye had always gotten the feeling that librarians were always just waiting for her to screw up so they could kick her out.

Jemma would probably tell her she was being ridiculous, Skye thought with a smile. Jemma loved librarians, and the feeling was usually mutual. They always got along very well, and Skye almost always made a point to bring Jemma along if she needed to do anything in a library for that very reason.

“So I guess you told Fitz about what Mrs. Hinton said about you maybe being autistic, like her daughter,” Skye said casually as she led Jemma over to where she had tried and failed to find any useful books. She hadn’t been sure if Jemma was going to bring that up with Fitz or not, but he apparently seemed to already know.

“Yes.” Jemma tilted her head to get a better look at the books. “I told him there was a possibility, and that I was waiting to do more research before I decided anything for myself. He said he would help with the research, since we were already looking up things for you.”

“That’s nice of him,” Skye smiled. “He’s being really cool about all of this.”

“Yes, he is,” Jemma said quietly. If Skye hadn’t known any better, she would have said Jemma looked a little bashful, but she couldn’t see any reason for Jemma to be embarrassed about Fitz being nice to them, so she figured she had just misread Jemma’s expression. Sometimes the looks on Jemma’s face didn’t quite line up with the things she was feeling.

They were silent for a little while, crouched in front of the shelves. Jemma was scanning through the book titles with unwavering focus, and Skye watched her work. She loved seeing Jemma in her element. It was almost like Jemma took up more space in the world when she was feeling sure of herself or doing something that she loved. That thought always made Skye happy, because as far as she was concerned, a world with more Jemma in it was always a better one.

When several minutes had passed without Jemma pulling out a single book, Skye found a triumphant seed start to grow inside of her. She couldn’t resist the opportunity to declare victory, even if it was potentially premature.

“I told you there wasn’t anything useful over here.”

“I’m still looking,” Jemma told her, making a shooing motion. The corners of her mouth twitched, so Skye knew she wasn’t upset by Skye’s stubborn insistence. The challenge had been issued and Jemma was determined to prove Skye wrong. The playful look dissolved quickly into something more pinched looking as she continued to peruse the shelf. Her brow creased.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just confused as to why the books on neurodevelopment are mixed in with books on pathogens and diseases and things like that. See, they’ve got a title on _Decoding the Brain_ in between something on muscular atrophy and something on cultivating immortalized cell lines from cancer cells. They shouldn’t be together like that.”

“Well, maybe they’re all mixed together because they have to do with doctors or medicine or something,” Skye suggested. She didn’t really understand what the problem was, but she could tell that whatever it was, Jemma was bothered by it.

“The 616 section in the Dewey Decimal system includes topics on pathology, diseases, and treatments,” Jemma said slowly. She was taking measured breaths, and Skye couldn’t help but notice she had started tapping again. She hadn’t needed to while she had been researching earlier. “So that makes some sense, but I don’t understand why books that have information on dyslexia, ADHD, or autism would be included in that section. They’re not diseases. There is no pathology to be studied, because they’re not illnesses. They can’t be transmitted or caught or cured. I know that. I read it. And Mrs. Hinton said so, too.” Jemma’s voice was coming faster and faster, a desperate confusion forcing its way out, and there was unmistakable anger snagging in her words. “So why would they be mixed in with books on diseases?”

“I don’t know, maybe they made a mistake,” Skye said, trying her best to placate Jemma. “Or maybe they didn’t have anywhere else to put them, so they just added them to the closest section they could find.”

“Maybe my other research was wrong,” Jemma said, more to herself than to Skye at this point. “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with us, but maybe we are sick. If that’s what the books say—”

“Hey,” Skye said suddenly, seriously. She felt bad interrupting, but she needed to cut Jemma off before she slipped too far down a rabbit hole that would only lead to her feeling badly about herself. “We’re not sick. You heard what Mrs. Hinton and May and Phil all said. They didn’t think there was anything wrong with us. Fitz doesn’t think so, either. I… I know I said some stuff at first that wasn’t so great, and I’m still not sure exactly how I feel about all of this, but you wouldn’t let me feel bad about myself for it, so I’m not going to let you feel bad about yourself, either. You don’t like it when I call myself dumb, even when I feel like I am, and I don’t like it when you call yourself sick. The books must just be wrong, not you, okay?”

“Okay,” Jemma whispered. Her shoulders hunched a little, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. The frantic anger that had flared up in her seemed to have dissipated after Skye’s scolding, and Skye felt a little bad about making Jemma shrink, but not bad enough to regret what she had said.

“Forget the books for now, okay? Think back to the other research you already did. What did that stuff say? How did that stuff make you feel?”

“It was okay,” Jemma acquiesced. “The things I learned about dyslexia and ADHD were interesting. It sounded like your brain was unique.”

“You said you wanted to look at scans of it,” Skye teased gently.

“I think they’d be beautiful,” breathed Jemma. She looked up, and a smile danced across her face. “I only just started reading about autism, but it sounded like there were distinctive developments in the neurobiology with autistic brains as well. They’d probably have some fascinating scans, too.”

“See? Not all bad,” Skye said comfortingly. She bumped her shoulder into Jemma’s playfully. “Just focus on that stuff. Trust your research. Trust your gut.”

“Did you know that the human gut has over 100 million nerve cells that all communicate directly with the brain?” Jemma asked. “That’s why people attribute their intuition to the stomach. It’s a highly sensitive organ that’s incredibly neurologically active, especially during times of emotional distress.”

“I did not know that,” Skye said, biting back a laugh. “I just thought it was because stomachs are notoriously honest body parts.”

“Stomachs can’t be honest, Skye,” Jemma said seriously. “Science can be, though. Good science doesn’t lie.”

* * *

Less than two hours later, Skye had traded the middle school library for the high school one, and she traipsed through the doors, dreading what might greet her on the other side. She had been nervous to start tutoring those few weeks ago, but Natasha had made the whole thing seem like it might be bearable. Now she was facing the prospect of tutoring without Natasha, and the same feelings of nervousness and unease that she had felt on that first day were seeping their way back into her stomach.

Jemma was beside her, as usual, tapping lightly.

“Ready?” she asked, as they picked their way past tables and towards where Ms. Price was waiting for them.

“I guess I have to be,” Skye muttered, before they reached Ms. Price and her crisp, but still pleasant, greeting. Jemma took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Good afternoon, girls,” Ms. Price nodded. “Skye, since it’s Wednesday and Natasha isn’t here, I’ve spoken with another tutor about working with you today. Jemma, I’ve spoken briefly with Mrs. Hinton from your school and with Phil about your new situation. We’ll take the rest of this week to develop a plan for your time with us, if that’s all right with you.” She paused and waited for Jemma to nod. “Excellent. For today, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind working with me personally for a little while. We’ve never used the tutoring program to provide extra enrichment work before, so I’d like to get a sense of your interests and ability levels to help us figure out exactly what kind of work would be best for you to do in the coming weeks. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Jemma said meekly. Skye knew Jemma would probably never say a word of dissent to Ms. Price. The woman was nice enough, but she was still incredibly intimidating.

“Very good,” said Ms. Price, with a snap of pleased finality punctuating her tone. “Skye, you can use your regular table. Raina is already there waiting for you.” Skye felt the blood drain from her face, and she wheeled around to see the dark curls and shining eyes of Raina, sitting in Natasha’s seat, waiting expectantly. Against her will, a small squeak escaped from her throat. This was exactly what she had been hoping to avoid with Natasha gone. Natasha had told her, and Bobbi had told her, they had both warned her. Raina was bad news.

Beside her, Jemma’s eyes were enormous with fear. She knew about Natasha and Bobbi’s warnings, too, and now they weren’t even going to be able to take on Raina together.

“Come with me, Jemma,” Ms. Price instructed, guiding Jemma away from Skye. “Skye, let’s get to work, okay?” Skye nodded numbly and felt her feet carry her over to the table. She watched as Jemma drifted listlessly behind Ms. Price, casting worried glances back Skye’s way every few steps.

As Skye arrived at the table and took her seat, Raina smiled broadly, but it did little to calm Skye’s nerves. She was briefly reminded of Claude, a cat that had skulked around one of her old foster homes and who always got a hungry, triumphant look on his face right before he pounced on an unsuspecting bird. With a shudder, Skye realized that she might be the bird in that scenario if she wasn’t careful.

“Hi Skye,” Raina said silkily. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Raina. I’m glad we’re going to get to work together today.”

“I remember,” said Skye stiffly. She wasn’t trying to be rude to Raina, but every inch of her body felt like it was vibrating with a resounding red alert, and it took every ounce of concentration she had to keep all of the pieces from shaking apart into the atmosphere. There just wasn’t room in her brain for politeness when the alarm bells were ringing so loudly.

“Is everything okay, Skye? You seem nervous.” Raina poked her bottom lip out a little in a look of pitying concern, but Skye kept her gaze fixed on Raina’s eyes. Those hadn’t changed. They were still lamp-like and esurient, like they were searching every corner of Skye’s heart for morsels of information to consume.

“I’m fine,” Skye told her, dragging her copy of _Stargirl_ out of her backpack. “We should probably just get started.”

“Okay,” Raina agreed. The intensity of her gaze softened slightly, and she turned her attention to Skye’s work. “It says here that you usually practice your reading, then switch over to math or science if you have time.”

“Yep.” Skye cracked the book and stared hard at the page. Anything to get Raina’s focus onto something else.

They read for a while, Raina acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. She was patient as Skye sounded out the words she didn’t recognize, and while she didn’t make it quite as fun as Natasha, or help Skye practice spelling the words she stumbled over, there wasn’t anything glaringly wrong with the way Raina ran the tutoring session. The antsy, prickly feeling in Skye’s arms and legs didn’t go away completely, but she couldn’t help but feel somewhat lulled by just how _normal_ Raina was acting.

“ _‘What was wrong with the name your parents gave you?’_ ” Skye read aloud as they neared the end of their scheduled time. In the book, the character Stargirl had picked that name out herself. It was something Skye appreciated about the character, but some of the other kids in the book didn’t share Skye’s sentiment, it seemed. “ _‘Stargirl tren…turned slowly to Jen…Jennifer. She smiled. ‘Nothing. It was a good name.’ ‘What was it?’ ‘Susan.’ ‘So why did you drop it?’ ‘Be…because I didn’t feel like Susan anymore.’ ‘So you just threw out Susan and named yourself Stargirl.’_ ” Skye paused and cocked her head to one side. She didn’t think she had ever read a book where a character had done something so identical to something Skye herself had done in her life. She had ditched the name the nuns gave her as soon as she realized she could. She had thrown out Mary Sue and named herself Skye, because she didn’t feel like Mary Sue, just like Stargirl hadn’t felt like Susan. Of course, the big difference between the two of them was that Stargirl had replaced a perfectly good name given to her by her parents, whereas Skye had shed a name she hated and that hadn’t come from anyone who cared about her.

“Skye? Did you lose your place?”

Skye snapped back to attention and realized that she had stopped reading a while ago. Raina was watching her expectantly.

“No,” Skye shook her head. “Sorry, just thinking about the book.”

“About Stargirl’s name?”

Skye blushed, shrugged. _How had Raina known that?_ “I guess so.”

“It’s a pretty name,” Raina said dreamily. “I think it’s interesting that she chose it herself. Sometimes I’ve thought about picking out a new name for myself, but I think mine suits me. Do you like your name?” She paused for a minute, giving Skye a long look. “It’s a nice name, although I don’t know if it quite fits you.”

Skye scowled. “It fits,” she grumbled. “I picked it out, so it fits.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” Raina said. Somehow, despite her words, Raina didn’t look surprised by this information at all. She didn’t sound it, either – her voice oozed with a casual coyness. The hairs on the back of Skye’s neck stood on end. “I guess if you picked it, then it must fit. What was your name before? It wasn’t Susan, was it?”

“Mary Sue,” Skye admitted. The name tasted like vinegar on her tongue. “That’s what it says on all my school forms.”

“Not that name,” Raina said, almost breathlessly. “I know about that one. It’s on your tutoring file. I meant your name from _before_ before. Your real name. The one your parents gave you.”

The air around them felt laced with electricity, like the air right before an enormous bolt of lightning splits the sky. Skye suddenly found it very hard to draw air into her lungs, but as uncomfortable as she was, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Raina. Words tripped out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying.

“I don’t know. I don’t have one. I don’t have parents, either,” Skye said quietly. “The nuns gave me my name when I was a baby. Before that I was nobody, I guess.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Raina hummed. “I don’t think you were a nobody. I don’t think you were nameless, either.”

“What are you talking about?” Skye asked, her eyes narrowing. Raina wasn’t making any sense.

“I’m talking about _you_ , Skye. I’m talking about your parents.”

“My parents?”

“I know you’ve been looking for them. I know about that little trip you took last week.” Raina paused, arching an eyebrow, like she was daring Skye to contradict her information. When Skye didn’t respond, Raina continued. “What would you say if I told you that your father is out there looking for you, right this very minute?” she asked. Her tone was hushed – excited, but still barbed with the hooks of knowing superiority. A rushing sound was building in Skye’s ears. There was no way. It was too much to hope for. Raina had to be lying. Bobbi and Natasha had said not to trust her.

“I would say you’re nuts,” Skye said defiantly, jutting out her chin a little. “My parents left me at the orphanage when I was a baby and they never came back. I’ve tried to find them, but they’re not out there. You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Raina smiled. It was that smile like Claude the cat, again. Insatiable in its victory. “I know your father, Skye. He misses you. He wants to see you.”

“Stop lying,” Skye hissed. Her face felt hot, and she raked her eyes across the library briefly to see if anyone was paying attention to them. Dread knotted up around her throat when she realized that no one – not Ms. Price, not Jemma, not any of the other kids in the library – noticed the exchange taking place between the two of them.

“It’s true,” Raina insisted. “I can prove it to you.”

“I don’t believe you. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything. Not about my parents, not about me—”

“I know plenty about you, Skye,” Raina interrupted. “Your father told me about you. About how he had to leave his little girl at the orphanage, even though he didn’t want to. About how he wrapped you up in the blanket from the hospital you were born at – the same hospital you tried to go to last week. I know about how you never stayed with a foster home for long, and I bet I know how you feel all of the time. Like there’s an empty space carved out in your heart where your parents should be. You’re angry, because you’ve been passed around all these years. You’re not sure anybody cares about you. You feel like the whole world overlooks you, because it’s easier for everyone else if they can just pretend you’re not there. You pretend like it makes you tougher, but deep down, it just makes you afraid. Afraid that you don’t matter. Afraid that no one is ever going to see you.”

“Stop,” Skye said. Her voice lacked the oomph she wished she could convey. She wanted to cover up her ears and block out everything Raina was saying. It scared her just how accurately Raina had pinned her, but she couldn’t let Raina know that she’d exposed some of the most secret corners of Skye’s soul. “Just stop talking. You’re wrong. I’m not afraid.”

“Now who’s the liar?” Raina said with a mirthless smile. “I’m right, and I know it. You know it, too. The thing is, Skye, you don’t have to feel like that. Your father wants to be with you. You matter to him. I can help you meet him.”

Indignant anger bubbled up in Skye’s chest, and she glared at Raina. What was wrong with this girl? Why would she say stuff like that? Why would she dangle something that Skye had longed for so cruelly in front of her, when there was no way it could possibly be true?

“I can tell you don’t believe me.” Raina was almost flippant, now. Like nothing about their conversation really mattered that much to her. Like it wasn’t important whether or not Skye listened to what she had to say. Somehow, that made Skye even angrier. “When you’re ready to listen to the truth, you know where to find me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Skye snapped. Raina laughed, a fluttery laugh, but one that had hidden edges to it, like shards of glass tumbling across the floor. Before Skye had a chance to react, Raina had reached out and caught Skye’s wrist tightly in her own hand. Skye tried to jerk her arm away, but Raina held fast. With her other hand, Raina pulled out a pen, uncapped it, and began to draw on the back of Skye’s hand. Skye wriggled, but Raina was stronger than she looked.

After a minute, Raina finished and released Skye’s arm. A doodle of a flower marred the skin on the back of Skye’s hand.

“What’s wrong with you?” Skye demanded. “You can’t just grab people like that! You can’t draw on them, either.”

“Consider it a clue,” Raina smiled slyly. “Cal’s always been a fan of treasure hunts. When you’ve driven yourself crazy trying to figure it out, you’ll come find me. I have more answers for you, Skye.”

The anger that had been collecting in Skye’s ribcage surged again, and before she knew what was happening, she was on her feet. She opened her mouth to shoot off a caustic retort, but someone else beat her to it.

“Everything okay over here?”

Skye whirled around and was greeted by the heavenly sight of Bobbi swinging forward on her crutches. There was something fiery crackling in Bobbi’s eyes, a kind of fierceness that Skye hadn’t seen in her foster sister before, but that strangely didn’t look the least bit out of place on her face.

“Bobbi.” Skye hadn’t meant to sound so relieved, but she couldn’t keep the desperate gratitude out of her voice. Raina was too much to handle on her own.

“Phil sent me to come find you,” Bobbi said quietly, drawing even with Skye. “It’s past time to go.” Without thinking fully about what she was doing, Skye closed the distance between them and tucked herself into Bobbi’s side. Something about Bobbi felt strong and safe to Skye, and she was feeling vulnerable after her conversation with Raina.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Raina said with saccharine sincerity, turning her attention to Bobbi. “You’re new, aren’t you? I’ve seen you hanging around with Russian Red and her soccer pals.”

“If you mean Natasha and the rest of my friends, then yeah,” Bobbi said tersely. “They told me about you. I think you better leave Skye alone, now.”

“There’s no need to get so riled up, Bobbi,” Raina tisked. Skye felt Bobbi bristle beside her when Raina used her name, and Skye immediately regretted saying it out loud a moment ago. “Skye and I were just doing some work with her reading. We took a break for a little chat, but there’s nothing nefarious going on here. You know, I didn’t realize the two of you were connected.”

“Why don’t you just mind your own business, all right?” Bobbi snapped. “Come on Skye, let’s get Jemma and get out of here.” Bobbi nudged Skye with the leg of one of her crutches, prompting Skye to grab her backpack and book.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t interrupted our conversation,” Raina said darkly. “I don’t appreciate people cutting in rudely or people who try to tell me who I can and can’t talk to.”

“If only I found your vague threat more intimidating,” said Bobbi icily. Skye raised her eyebrows. She could get used to having tough Bobbi around. Maybe this was the version of Bobbi that she had told Skye and Jemma about – the one who didn’t take any hassling from kids at school or on the soccer field.

Bobbi steered Skye towards the library door, collecting a confused and immediately antsy Jemma from her table on the way. As they left, Raina called out a final reminder to Skye.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready for some real answers, Skye,” she said. Skye wished her words didn’t fill her with such a deep sense of dread, but something told her that, despite Bobbi’s best efforts, she hadn’t seen the last of Raina.

* * *

“Are you okay?” Bobbi asked, once they were out in the hall with Jemma. Jemma overlapped her with a concerned “what’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” Skye told them both. “Raina was… she was just messing with me. Saying stuff to get under my skin.”

“What were you two talking about before I came in?” Bobbi wanted to know.

Skye paused, considering her answer carefully. She didn’t really want to lie to Jemma and Bobbi, especially after everything that had happened the last time she’d hidden the truth about an antagonistic conversation in the library, but she wasn’t sure she knew how to explain exactly what had just happened between her and Raina. “Nothing, really,” Skye said with a shrug, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “We were doing our reading like normal, and then we were talking about how Stargirl picked out her own name, and how I picked out _my_ own name, and then… I don’t know, things just got a little out of control, I guess.”

“She seems like a real piece of work,” Bobbi grimaced. “Natasha was right about her.”

“I didn’t mean for the conversation to get away from me like that,” Skye confessed. “She just kept saying all the right things to keep me talking, even though I knew I shouldn’t.” She flicked her eyes over to check on Jemma, who was watching her fretfully.

“I don’t understand why she’s so interested in you, Skye,” Jemma said softly. “She didn’t even know you until a few weeks ago.”

A part of Skye wanted to reveal what Raina had said to her – about her father, about her past. It couldn’t be true, of course, but for whatever reason, Raina wanted to talk about those things with her. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t keep things from Jemma anymore, and now that Bobbi had come to her rescue and seemed to not still be mad at her, Skye figured she owed Bobbi that same promise. She knew she should open her mouth and tell them everything, but something gummed up her throat and left the words trapped somewhere in her ribs, like bits of leaf and twig that got tangled up in a cobweb until they shriveled up and died.

Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t want to give any more credence to Raina’s outlandish theories. Maybe it was because she was still embarrassed at how easily Raina had been able to wrap her up in her coils. Maybe it was because, as much as she hated herself for having to admit it, there was some truth buried in some of the things Raina said. She _was_ angry that nobody seemed to care about her, and that she had been passed around like a hot potato for so many years. She _was_ bitter about the fact that, at least until now, people had been more than content to shunt her off to the side, to ignore her and pretend like she was invisible, just so that she wouldn’t complicate their lives.

More than anything, more than she ever wanted to admit, she _was_ afraid. Of so many things. Of being alone. Of being overlooked for so long that she eventually just vanished into oblivion, with no one to even notice that she had disappeared for good. She was afraid that the reason no one had ever wanted her around had much more to do with the fact that there was something deeply flawed and unfixable embedded in her very bones, the fact that she was bad and wrong and unlovable, than anything else. She was afraid that all of the good things that had been piling up in her life recently – Jemma and May and Phil and Bobbi and Fitz and Natasha – were going to be taken away from her at any minute, just as soon as she finally proved that she wasn’t worthy of having them.

She knew, somewhere in her head, that things didn’t have to be like that, but the knowing in her head didn’t always put up a very good fight against the feeling in her heart. She knew that Jemma loved her, for example, but she still couldn’t help but feel alone sometimes. She knew that Phil didn’t think she was broken, and that May didn’t think she was bad, and that Bobbi thought she was worth protecting, but that didn’t help her shake away the gnawing, queasy doubts that always lurked around in her head, waiting for someone like Raina to come and wake them back up. She also knew that she should just tell Jemma and Bobbi the truth about all of the jumbled-up things that were careening around in her thoughts, but she still couldn’t find the words.

“Hello? Earth to Skye?” Bobbi waved a hand in front of Skye’s face to get her attention. Skye blinked hard and realized that they were all still standing in the hallway, and that Jemma and Bobbi were looking at her expectantly.

“Sorry. What?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bobbi asked, knitting her eyebrows together and studying Skye’s face. “You’re all pale looking.”

“Did Raina say something bad to you?” Jemma was copying Bobbi’s expression. Her eyes bore the unasked question, wondering if this was going to be like what happened with Ward.

“It’s fine,” Skye said numbly. “It wasn’t even true. She was just making stuff up. I’d be stupid to believe her.”

“Whatever she said, you can’t take it seriously,” Bobbi warned. “Natasha said Raina twists stuff up all the time. Plus, she shouldn’t even be talking to you like that. If she tries to mess with you again, Skye, you have to let us know. I’ll take care of her, okay? Me and Natasha both. We’ll keep her away from you as best we can.”

“You mean it?” Skye was surprised at the ferocity with which Bobbi was now speaking. The fire that Bobbi had conjured in the library when she was going toe to toe with Raina seemed to have returned.

“I mean it. She’s my problem now, not yours. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Skye said, a small smile curving upwards despite herself. “I got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Welcome back :) This chapter was supposed to go up like 2 days ago, but I got bogged down with work and health (not Covid, I promise! And I'm on the mend!), so here we are. Hope you like the chapter - the plot has reappeared and continues to thicken! Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Oh! Also! I don't know if this is a normal thing to put on chapter notes or not, but I have a tumblr now! It's nothing fancy, and I'm still learning the ropes, but so far it's pretty fun. It's the same as my username on here, so come say hi on there if you want :)


	48. Keep the Pie Plates Spinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of ableism, abuse

Maybe it had been naïve of her, but Melinda hadn't realized just how much work _scheduling_ things was going to become once she added three new humans into her life. When it had just been her and Phil, there had hardly been anything to schedule at all. Their lives followed a simple, familiar rhythm of breakfast together, work apart, and then dinner together at the end of the day. It wasn't the most exciting life, but they found ways to keep things interesting: outings with friends, surprise date nights at fun, new restaurants Phil was dying to try, and the occasional weekend spent in a cozy little bungalow at the lake. There hadn't been so much to keep track of, but now… well, now it was all May could do to make sure everyone came home safely at night. Doctor's appointments for Bobbi, tutoring for Skye, meetings at the school for Jemma – and she wasn't even the one keeping on top of the little things like meals and homework. She had always been organized – meticulously so, according to some, although she scoffed at the suggestion that her systems were "over the top" – but all of this was a challenge even for her.

She and Phil had been trying for days to find a time to sit down and meet with Victoria to talk about the girls, but so far all they had managed were quick phone calls here or some snippets of email exchanges there. They had updated Victoria on the situation with Skye, of course, and had told her about their plans to meet with Polly Hinton, but there was no substitute for a true, sit-down meeting with all three of them present, so they could finally clear some things up about the girls.

When they had finally managed to find a day where Victoria could spare an hour, and where Phil wasn't needed at the school during lunch, it of course ended up being on the same day that May was supposed to take Bobbi to Dr. Gambhir to see about getting her off crutches in the morning.

"It's fine," Phil had assured her the night before. "It'll be fine. You'll take Bobbi in the morning like we planned, then you two can meet me and Victoria for lunch, and I'll take Bobbi back with me to school for the afternoon."

"I know, you're right," May sighed, settling into bed beside him. "I know it's not as complicated as I'm making it out to be. I'm just not used to juggling quite so many plates, I guess."

"Your juggling is outstanding," Phil said with a playful smile. "You're ready for the circus, as far as I'm concerned."

"And what does that make you?" May smirked. "The acrobat who can bend over backwards to make everyone happy?"

"I was hoping for ringmaster, but I'll take acrobat," he teased back, waggling his eyebrows at her. May rolled her eyes at his antics, but a smile was eking its way out. "Just so long as you don't think of me as the clown in all of this, I think I'm content," he told her.

"Not a clown," May promised, leaning in close and pressing a kiss onto his forehead. "Although you've been known to play the fool sometimes. But never a clown to me."

Phil tilted his chin, moving so that he could reach to plant his own kiss back onto her. His mouth found a spot along her jawline, right in the ticklish part where jaw met the space under her ear, and May fought to keep from squirming at the touch. It was a silent understanding of their marriage that she pretended as though she wasn't ticklish, and Phil pretended as though he believed her. It was sweet of him to let her keep up the façade of stoicism, although she knew Phil considered it his personal mission in life to get her to break at every opportunity he could.

Phil noticed her trying not to wriggle, and he smiled widely into the kiss. When he pulled away, his eyes were positively sparkling with mischief.

"Don't even think about it," May warned him, holding up a cautionary finger.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said innocently. He rolled to one side and propped himself up on his elbow so that he could look right into her eyes. "I'm just kissing my wife. My unticklish, super serious wife, who I love very much but also think could learn to relax a little."

"I relax," May protested. "I'm relaxed right now."

"You were just worrying over tomorrow's schedule a minute ago. That's not relaxed."

"Fine. Maybe not now, but I do relax. Tai chi is relaxing. Spending time with you and the girls is relaxing."

Phil laughed. "Liar," he teased. "Just because you _like_ spending time with us doesn't mean it's relaxing for you. You're always making sure everyone's good, everyone has what they need—"

"Maybe you and I just have very different definitions of relaxation," May teased back.

"I'll teach you mine if you teach me yours," Phil enticed. He reached out and rubbed the side of his thumb all the way from her cheek down to her chin, tilting her face towards him. He was grinning, his eyes all shooting stars and fireworks. It was infectious.

"Deal," May said, the grin she'd caught from Phil splitting her own face wide. "But you better be ready to be up at five tomorrow morning."

* * *

Phil hadn't gotten up with her at five, but Melinda hadn't really expected him to. He was sleeping peacefully, and she hated to wake him. Plus, she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted Phil joining her for tai chi. He had never been all that keen on exercise that didn't involve a ball or a whistle. They had taken a couples' yoga class with Victoria and Izzy once, a few years ago, and that had ended in hilarious disaster, with Phil knocking over the rack of mats and blocks in the middle of sun salutations and Izzy throwing out her back by trying to stand on her head before she had even figured out the difference between cat and cow pose. Phil and Izzy had given up halfway through, and May and Victoria found them half an hour later laughing uproariously and tucked in a booth at the Pie-in-the-Sky diner with empty pie plates in front of them. They hadn't gone back to the yoga class, although they enjoyed retelling the story as many times as they could, and May had decided to stick with solo tai chi.

There was a reason she chose to start her day with quiet contemplation and practicing the discipline needed to approach the fast brute force of life with a slow and measured response. It gave her balance, grounded her before she stepped out into a world that, more often than not, felt like it was trying its hardest to knock her off her feet. As much as she loved Phil, he wasn't much for meditation, and she didn't think he felt the struggle to stand upright in the same way she did. He had his own ways of anchoring himself to the world, of finding his peace.

For all the fretting she had done about the schedule, the morning went off without a hitch. Phil got Jemma and Skye off to school, and May had time to tackle a few early morning work emails before it was time for her and Bobbi to leave for physical therapy.

Dr. Gambhir was pleased with Bobbi's progress, and Bobbi was gaining more confidence in her healing knee. It was exciting to watch the sparks of determination start to catch like kindling in Bobbi's eyes as the doctor helped her flex and rotate, then put weight on, her leg. Bobbi hadn't exactly been timid since coming to live with them, but May could tell she had been keeping a lot of things buttoned up. Not that she blamed Bobbi, of course. She could only imagine what must be churning around in Bobbi's head most of the time, but still, it was nice to see glimpses of a girl with grit in her heart and a fire in her belly after everything that Bobbi had gone through to get there.

"Your muscles are restrengthening nicely," Dr. Gambhir said as he guided Bobbi through taking a few tentative, supported steps across the room, then back to her seat on the table. "And you've regained a good range of motion. Right on target for what we'd want to see at this point in the recovery. I'd like to fit you for a new brace – a walking brace – that you can wear all day. With the walking brace, you shouldn't need the crutches anymore, although I would recommend holding onto them, just in case. You shouldn't be overexerting yourself, but if you find there's a day where you're more fatigued than usual, or experiencing any pain in the knee, I'd advise you to pull the crutches back out. At least until I can get a look and see if there's a risk of reinjury."

Bobbi nodded solemnly, drinking in his words. She didn't say much during the physical therapy sessions, but May had a sneaking suspicion that was just Bobbi's way of tackling the problem of her recovery. Laser focus, pushing herself to fight for every step, eyes only on the end goal. They hadn't talked about it outright, but May had watched the way Bobbi studied the soccer field at the game they'd all gone to. She'd seen how talking about soccer managed to coax more enthusiasm out of Bobbi than almost anything else. She knew that getting back on the field was what Bobbi was fighting for.

"I'm going to warn you now," Dr. Gambhir cautioned, "this is one of the toughest parts of the recovery process for a lot of my patients. You're starting to feel strong again, and you've gotten a taste of returning to your old self. It's very tempting to push yourself too far, too fast, because it feels like you should be able to start doing things as you once did, but it's imperative that you not take things faster than your body is telling you it can. Stick with the exercises I've given you, keep coming to appointments. Take it slow. I want you to start to try walking normally, but keep your distances short for a while. No running for now, no high-impact exercises, no hiking, things like that. Each day you'll get stronger, and we'll keeping working here in my office, but the last thing you want to do is set yourself back because you tried to rush your body. Understood?"

"Understood," Bobbi echoed. Dr. Gambhir worked quickly, finding the right brace to replace Bobbi's old one with and adjusting it around her knee. Once it was in place, he gestured for Bobbi to stand up under her own power. Bobbi's eyes flicked over to May for the briefest of seconds – a split moment that May might not have caught had she not been watching Bobbi so carefully – and searched for something. Confirmation, maybe, or encouragement. May nodded slowly, a steady, strong nod that she hoped told Bobbi that she believed Bobbi could do it, that Bobbi would be okay.

It must have worked, because Bobbi pushed herself off of the table and up onto her feet without the help of the doctor. She wobbled momentarily, then righted herself without anyone's help.

"How does the brace feel?" Dr. Gambhir asked. "Not too loose?" Bobbi shook her head. "Can you tell the difference in support between that one and your old one?" he wanted to know.

Bobbi nodded this time. "It's easier to stand with this one on, I think."

"Good," smiled Dr. Gambhir. "That's the goal. All right, I'd like you to try and take a few steps without using anything to lean on. No crutches, not me. Take your time, especially while you're getting used to the new balance. The handrail's right there on the wall if you feel unsteady."

Something tensed in Bobbi's shoulders – May watched the muscles tighten and her arms freeze up for a second – and it looked briefly like Bobbi wanted to reach out and grab something to hold onto, despite the doctor's instructions. Then, the moment passed and Bobbi lifted her foot and took her first independent, tottering step on her newly healed leg. Then, she took another, and another, each one less tentative than the next, and May watched as a delighted, triumphant grin crashed over Bobbi's normally well-masked face.

"I'm walking!" Bobbi said, joyous excitement bubbling up in her words. She twisted around to look back at May, and something like sunshine and adrenaline erupted in May's chest. It wasn't entirely foreign to her, but she had never experienced such an intense feeling of pride so suddenly before.

"Look at you," May told her, her voice coming out a little more thickly than she'd intended. She smiled broadly at her girl. _Her girl? Where had_ that _come from?_ May had surprised herself with the thought, but the more she watched Bobbi work to move across the room, her smile widening and her posture straightening more with each step, the more she liked the way it sounded in her head. _Her girl_. Her wonderful, strong, and brave girl. "I'm so proud of you."

* * *

"I can't wait to see the look on Phil's face," Bobbi grinned as they eased the car into the parking lot of the Pie-in-the-Sky diner. Phil's car was already there, so he must be waiting inside for them, but May noticed that Victoria seemed not to have arrived yet.

"Me neither," May admitted, letting a small smile escape. "He's going to be so surprised."

They got out of the car and May led the way into the diner. Carolyn the waitress was behind the counter, chatting through the window with Hoagie, one of the cooks. May was sure that couldn't be his real name, but she'd never, in all the years that she and Phil had been coming here, heard anyone call him anything else.

"Have a seat, sugar," Carolyn called as they came in. "You know where to find him."

She was right, of course. May knew exactly where to find Phil, nestled happily into his favorite booth, a menu propped in front of him.

"Hi honey," Phil greeted her warmly, scooting over a little to make room. "How was your morning?"

"Fine," May said casually. She slid in next to him. "Bobbi has something she wants to show you."

"Oh?" Phil looked around, realizing that he hadn't seen her come in. May watched as his eyes lighted upon their eldest daughter, who was lingering in the entryway to the restaurant. "What's she doing all the way over there?"

"You'll see."

May gave Bobbi a small nod, and Bobbi's mouth quirked into a happy, bashful shape before she proudly, carefully, deliberately walked across the dining room and closed the distance between them.

"Oh my god," Phil breathed. His eyes were shining, and May could tell he was nearly overcome with the same pride and wonder she had felt watching Bobbi walk. "Bobbi, that's incredible. _You're_ incredible."

"It's just some walking," Bobbi said, blushing. She eased herself into the booth, careful to navigate the brace around the table.

"Don't be silly," Phil said. "It's a big accomplishment. Don't sell yourself short. You've been working so hard on your recovery, and this is… I mean, you're _walking_ Bobbi. Your kneecap was shattered a month and a half ago and you're walking. We are so getting pie after lunch today."

"Any idea what types Carolyn's cooked up today?"

"She's kept them close to the vest so far, but I swear I can smell the brown sugar and molasses cooking for a shoo-fly pie, so fingers crossed," Phil grinned.

"It must be your lucky day," May teased. Phil's mother had made shoo-fly pies all the time when he was growing up, and he still loved to eat them. May had tried on several occasions to duplicate her mother-in-law's recipe, but it never came out quite right. According to Phil, the only person who had ever come close to making one as good as his mother was Carolyn. "Any word from Vic yet? She should be here soon, I think."

"She sent me a text before she left her last meeting," Phil said. "She was about ten minutes out, and that was…" He checked his watch. "…about eight minutes ago."

"So she'll be right on time, as usual," nodded May.

True to form, by the time Carolyn had swung by and taken their drink orders, the bell over the door jingled and signaled the arrival of Victoria Hand. She wasted no time in clipping over to their booth and taking the empty seat next to Bobbi, and May thought she looked a little more harried than usual.

"Hello all," Victoria said, taking stock of her surroundings. "Gosh, Phil, I don't think I've been in this place since the yoga fiasco."

"Fiasco is a little strong, don't you think?" chuckled Phil. "We all came out unscathed, plus we got pie out of it."

"Well, you and Izzy got pie out of it," smirked Victoria. "May and I got to apologize profusely to an overly-emotional twenty-something in yoga pants and then spend the next twenty minutes chasing you two across town."

"How about I get you a slice of pie today and we'll call it even?" Phil grinned. "We were going to get some after lunch to celebrate Bobbi's big news anyways."

"That sounds like a deal I can agree to," Victoria said. "Bobbi, what's this big news we're celebrating?"

Bobbi looked a little caught off guard by the question Victoria directed her way, but once she had collected her bearings, she responded casually, like she wasn't quite sure how proud of herself she was allowed to be. "I'm walking now. No more crutches. My physical therapist says I'm making really good progress."

"That's wonderful, Bobbi, congratulations," Victoria said, gracing Bobbi with a rare smile. Bobbi's cheeks flushed, but she returned the smile shyly. "Izzy will be so happy to hear that. She's taken quite a liking to you, I think."

"You mean Detective Hartley?" Bobbi asked. With a guilty sting, May realized that they had never clarified the relationship between Victoria and Izzy to Bobbi. "The one from the hospital?"

"Yes," nodded Victoria. "I don't discuss details of my cases with my wife normally, of course, but since Izzy was involved before I was, she asks about you from time to time. I think she liked your spunk."

"Your wife," Bobbi echoed slowly. "I didn't know… you never said – "

"We try to keep our relationship strictly professional while we're both on the job," Victoria explained. "And I don't usually bring up my personal life with the kids I work with. May and Phil seem to bring out the exception to my rule."

"I tend to have that effect on people," joked Phil.

May shook her head with a smile. Truer words have never been spoken. Phil had the uncanny ability to coax people into letting their guard down or bending their rules without really even trying to. It wasn't manipulative in any way; he just had an ease about him that made people relax in ways they might not ordinarily. She had broken several of her self-imposed relationship rules when she started dating him, and obviously now she had no regrets about letting the chortling man beside her prod her out of her comfort zone all those years ago.

"Well, at the risk of sounding brusque, I'm going to suggest we turn to business," Victoria said, once their laughter had quieted. "I know we all have tight schedules today and I want to make sure I maximize your time."

"Not brusque at all," May assured her. She was ready to get down to business as well, and was grateful to Victoria for steering them in that direction.

"Bobbi, I'm sorry to do this, but do you think you could sit somewhere else for a minute?" Victoria asked. "Maybe up at the counter, where we can still see each other? It's just that I can't really talk about Skye and Jemma in front of you while they're still my cases. Confidentiality concerns, all that." May noticed the little lines that creased at the corners of her friend's mouth. Victoria felt badly about sending Bobbi away, but May knew better than to expect Vic's flexibility regarding the rules of her position to extend any farther today.

Bobbi had no problem with the request, though, and she squeezed past Victoria and out of the booth. Carolyn flashed them a wink as she laid out a fresh set of silverware up at the counter and immediately struck up a conversation with Bobbi as she perched on the swivelly stool. Bobbi was in good, albeit chatty, hands.

"Okay, so fill me in," Victoria said seriously, once they were alone and their food had arrived. "I know we talked on the phone after Skye's… incident. I'm so sorry about that, again. Skye's not normally one who I worry about running. I would have prepared you if—"

"Vic, please, it's fine," May told her. "Scared the hell out of us, but it wasn't your fault. You've already apologized, and so has Skye. She understands how serious it was, and honestly, she's been walking on eggshells ever since."

"I'm not surprised," Vic nodded. "That's a common response to being given a second chance. She doesn't want to mess things up again."

"We've tried to help her understand that it's okay to make mistakes, as long as you learn from them," Phil said. "We want her to feel comfortable enough to fail with us, if that makes any sense. We want all of them to understand that perfect behavior isn't a condition of our caring, but it's taking a while for that message to sink in."

"The fact that you're trying, that you want to send that message to them… that's huge, Phil. I'm sorry to say that it's an unlikely message for them to have heard much over the years." Victoria paused, smiled. "I knew you two would be good at this."

"It's all Phil," May said, turning her gaze lovingly on her husband and scooping up his hand under the table for a squeeze. "He's so good with them. He even had a little bit of a breakthrough with Skye the other night after the meeting with the guidance counselor, we think."

"Oh, the guidance counselor!" Victoria said suddenly. "I almost forgot. How did that go?"

"It was an… interesting meeting," Phil settled on. "A good meeting, for sure, but it opened up a lot of new questions for us. Polly Hinton – she's the guidance counselor – she's an old friend, and she's one of the best, as far as I'm concerned, but… well, there's just a lot about Skye and Jemma that we didn't know about. I think hearing some of what Polly had to say helped us realize just how little we actually know."

Victoria nodded sadly. "I'm afraid that's the case with a lot of kids in the system here. So much falls through the cracks, despite our best efforts."

"Have Skye or Jemma been evaluated before?" May asked. "By other guidance counselors or professionals? Are there any other records out there that we should know about?"

"Yes and no," Victoria waffled. "I know there have been a few attempts over the years to get the girls seen by different specialists, with varying degrees of success. Jemma's been given a number of aptitude tests by her different schools over the years. I'm sure you saw some of those on her school records. The school that they went to while staying at St. Agnes – Our Lady of Mercy – was fairly strict on keeping students in their age-appropriate grades and didn't have any kind of gifted program, so there wasn't much in the way of evaluation for Jemma there. It hasn't happened since I've been her case manager, but I know some of Jemma's earlier families tried to get her seen by a different professionals. It's my understanding that didn't go well. She's never told me explicitly what her experience with that was, but the families in question weren't particularly good ones, so I would imagine they were more interested in changing her behaviors than understanding them."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Phil wanted to know.

"That they wanted a doll instead of a child. Or maybe a dog that they could train," Victoria said drily. "They were looking for a way to change Jemma so that she fit more neatly into the lives they had imagined for themselves, rather than for a way to reshape their lives to accommodate and support the fully-formed person they had just welcomed into their home."

"Polly had some suggestions about ways that we could help keep Jemma engaged at school, and Jemma picked out one that sounded good to her, so we're going to give that a try soon. We've set her up with a tutor who can give her extra work and give her a chance to explore some subjects that interest her more than what she's getting in school," Phil said.

"That sounds like a great plan. I think the fact that Jemma got to choose that is hugely important," Victoria smiled. "Honestly, giving her agency when it comes to her education, or really any part of her life, is something that we always want to see. So many decisions about these kids get made without their input. It's unfortunate."

"She also suggested we consider having Jemma evaluated for autism," May added. "Polly's daughter is autistic, and she mentioned that there were some similarities between the girls. Has anyone ever mentioned that to you or Jemma before?"

"Not directly, no," Victoria said. "It's crossed my mind a few times, just as I've gotten to know Jemma better and started noticing some of her little tendencies, but the nuns have never been particularly receptive to the idea of getting the kids diagnosed with anything that's not life-threatening. I think they worry it will hurt a kid's chances of getting fostered, but if you want my opinion – "

"We always do."

"Well, my opinion is that it hurts a kid's chances of finding a forever home if families don't have a full picture of the child they're fostering. Maybe fewer people will take a chance on a kid that has a formal diagnosis in their file, but the ones who will take that leap stand a better chance of being the right fit. I've tried for years to get St. Agnes to see it that way, but they won't budge. Of course, they still train left-handed kids to use their right hand, so you see what I'm up against here."

"So do you think that's an avenue we ought to pursue with Jemma? If she's open to it, of course?" Phil asked. "Polly seemed to think it might help in terms of getting her some accommodations at school, but we don't want to do something that's going to hurt Jemma in the long run."

"I think, if Jemma's on board, then it might not be such a bad idea to see what a good professional thinks. If I had to guess, Jemma knows good and well that she's a little different from her peers, so maybe having a label to explain why she doesn't fit as naturally will come as a comfort. I'd take my cues from her on this, though. Like I said, from what I've gathered, she's seen some bad doctors in the past, so she might rather not take that route. If you want, I can speak with her about it when I come by next week for house visits and check-ins."

"That would be great," Phil nodded. "We'll talk with her about it too, of course, but I think having your input would be good. You've known her a lot longer than we have."

"That may be true, but she's opened up more around you two than I've ever seen. Clearly you're doing something right with her that I've yet to discover."

"I think Skye may have more to do with that than us," May smiled. "Those two have a way of bringing out the best in each other."

"They do," Victoria agreed. "But don't sell yourselves short. They can't bring out the best in each other if they don't have the space to do so. They've always been close, but back at St. Agnes it was an insular kind of closeness. They drew into one another to keep out the rest of the world. It seems like now they're drawing outward from each other. Helping each other to grow rather than just survive. That doesn't happen unless they've got a safe place to put down their roots."

"You're getting sappy again, Vic," May chided playfully to distract from the creeping embarrassment that was flushing up the back of her neck. Beside her, Phil's expression was dewy. "If you set Phil off, we're never getting out of here."

"Your right, I'm sorry," Victoria laughed. "We still have your other kids to talk about. Tell me about Skye. What did the guidance counselor have to say about her? I know Skye's had some disciplinary problems in the past, and academics have never been her strong suit…"

"She thinks that a lot of Skye's issues might be stemming from learning disabilities," Phil said. "I'd already noticed how difficult reading is for her, and Polly thought there was a possibility of dyslexia. She mentioned ADHD, too."

"That would explain a lot," Victoria sighed. "Again, the nuns were never especially keen on getting the kids tested for things like that, but that would make a lot of other things about Skye make sense. She's always been earmarked as someone with behavioral issues, which is a bit of an unfair assessment, if you ask me. She's a good kid, especially one-on-one, but she's always had a hard time with structured environments. She's impulsive and emotional and reactive, but it's never from a place of malice or rebellion. You know all this."

"We do," smiled Phil. "She's a spitfire, but she's a sweetheart, too. Like with Jemma, Polly told us that we'd have to see a specialist for a formal diagnosis, but if we get one for her, there are a lot of things the school can do to help her."

"The tricky part is that Skye has already made it very clear she has no interest in seeing a doctor," May said. "We first brought it up after she had run away, actually. She said some things to me that raised some red flags, and Phil and I thought it might help her to talk to someone about the things that she's feeling, find some strategies for coping with all those big feelings she has, that sort of thing. She shut us down almost immediately."

"That doesn't surprise me." Victoria pursed her lips slightly, took a moment to fiddle with her glasses. It wasn't a huge tell, but May had known and worked with Victoria for long enough to know that meant she was choosing her next words carefully.

"It's my understanding that Skye's been sent to a number of doctors and therapists in the past. Some foster families were looking to get a fix for her behavior, especially as a younger child. She had a lot of energy and a lot of emotions and no way to channel either of those things. A few of her old families accused her of being violent, or of having outbursts, so I know the nuns probably did everything they could to wrestle those things out of her or cover them up. There was a man who worked with them – his official title was 'spiritual counselor' or something along those lines. He wasn't a licensed psychologist or anything like that, but I guess he had some kind of therapeutic training because he would come in and advise the nuns in that capacity. Never official diagnoses of course, they didn't want that on the records, and frankly, I'm not sure he was qualified to give them, but from some of the notes Skye's previous social worker left me, Skye and the counselor didn't get along very well. I've never managed to get much out of her about it, but I would guess that's the source of a lot of her reluctance. Well that, and the fact that Skye doesn't really like to talk about her feelings, despite wearing them on her sleeve."

"God, did anything ever go right for these kids?" May breathed sharply. The muscles in her jaw tightened at the thought of all of the damage that had been inflicted upon Skye and Jemma. At the hands of people who were supposed to be in charge of their care, no less.

"They found you two," Victoria said softly. "It only takes one person to change a child's life for good. And they've got double that, now."

"Triple," Phil corrected. "Don't think we don't see how much you're doing for our girls, Vic. It's clear how much you want to help them."

"It's just part of the job." Victoria flushed and waved Phil off like it was nothing. May snorted.

"You can't dish out sappy compliments and not expect to get some in return," she quipped.

Victoria rolled her eyes, but the beginnings of a smile flickered across her face. "All right, all right, point taken."

"Serious question, Vic," May said, after a minute. "How is St. Agnes still allowed to run? I feel like I've heard nothing but horror stories of the place. There's no way they're meeting state guidelines…"

"They're private, well-funded, backed by a powerful institution," Victoria said, ticking things off on her fingers. "Honestly, they've got plenty of issues, but compared to some of the other options out there, they're not too terrible. They have a decent success rate when it comes to placing kids in homes, and the ones that stay there until they age out have a good chance of graduating high school, since the school is connected to the same diocese the group home is. A high school diploma is huge for a kid in the system, and the state looks favorably on that. I'm sure they have some other positives that aren't coming to mind right now, but it's all enough that the state is willing to overlook some of the serious negatives of the place. If it was up to me, I'd shut the place down in a heartbeat, but there are so few group homes as it is, and even fewer that are equipped for long-term living the way St. Agnes is… I guess some people figure a subpar place like St. Agnes is better than no place at all. The last thing anybody wants is more kids living on the streets, fending for themselves."

"It just seems so wrong," May shook her head. "They shouldn't be allowed to treat kids that way."

"You've just echoed my daily mantra," said Victoria with a grim smile. "That's why we do what we do. That's why we fight the battles we do. Somebody needs to stick up for the kids who can't stick up for themselves. Somebody needs to call out the things that are wrong and challenge the systems that are in place to be better. Somebody needs to be the shield that stands in between the defenseless and the indefensible, the sword that cuts through thickets of injustice to clear a path towards what's right."

"I guess that makes you a knight in shining armor," Phil smiled, "wielding that sword and shield and all."

"No," Victoria said seriously. "That role's all you. I'm the tools to get there, but you're the ones who use them. I can't do my job if I don't have people who I can look to for support. It's not a solitary endeavor."

"All right, that's enough, you two," May teased. "Vic, I already told you not to make Phil cry. We don't have time for that."

"You're right," Victoria conceded, glancing briefly at her watch. "No reason to get carried away. I don't want to keep you any longer than I already have."

"We still have time," Phil assured them both. "Bobbi and I don't have to be back at school for another twenty minutes. That's long enough for pie."

"You do owe me a slice," smirked Victoria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) Thanks for being here :) I'm really grateful to you all. Life's a beast, but y'all make it better <3
> 
> Also, if you'll pardon a moment of self-indulgence, I just wanted to say that if you had told me a year ago, when I decided to give writing this story a shot (because it was NaNoWriMo and I didn't think I could write a novel, but I thought a multi-chapter fanfic might be fun to try), that I would have a word doc with over 250k words in it, a story that I'm proud to have written (and to be writing), and people who actually want to read it (and who like it!), I would have laughed out loud. This past year has been really hard, for a lot of reasons, but this is one of the bright spots. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For being here. For reading. For sticking with me on a journey that started (for me) a year ago and isn't yet finished. I am so incredibly grateful.


	49. Ice Cream and a Harvest Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief reference to violence

By the time May tramped back into the house late Saturday morning, shaking flecks of chilly, October rain from her hair, she was ready to be inside for the remainder of the day. The weather had taken a cold dip towards the end of the week, and the rain that rolled in the night before had a frosty bite to it as it pounded against the windows. Phil had taken the girls to go and buy winter coats that morning, leaving May to do the grocery shopping, and by the sound of laughter drifting out from the den, it seemed as though they had finished their errand much quicker than she had.

“I’m home!” she called, hoping to rally the troops into helping her carry the rest of the groceries in from the car. They were buying a lot more food these days, now that they had three extra mouths to feed, which meant extra trips back and forth from the car. With the weather as nasty as it was, May wasn’t especially interested in making all of those extra trips herself.

Luckily, Phil was intuitive enough to interpret her call, and the sound of several sock-covered feet padded down the hallway, bringing Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma to meet her.

“Hi May,” Skye beamed. “Phil said we should come and help you with the groceries. We’re in the middle of Uno, but you can play next round if you want.”

“I could use some help,” May agreed. “And Uno sounds great. Let’s get this food in the house, first, though.” They all started towards the door, scooping up shoes, but May held an arm out in front of Bobbi. “Why don’t you stay in the kitchen and put things away while the rest of us carry them in. You don’t want to work your knee too hard.”

“Dr. Gambhir said I was supposed to walk normally,” Bobbi said. If May hadn’t known any better, she would have said Bobbi was almost pouting. The idea amused her, but she forced herself to keep a serious face.

“He also said not to overexert yourself. We have enough other people who can carry groceries in, and I need someone putting things away so the ice cream doesn’t melt before we bring everything else in.”

“You got ice cream?” Skye asked excitedly. “What for?”

“For… eating?” May tried and failed to mask her confusion. “I thought it might be nice to have something sweet for after dinner some nights. Phil can usually go through a pack of Oreos by himself in just a few days, so we don’t always have things like that around, but there was a sale on ice cream…”

“So, it’s just for regular days?” Skye scrunched up her brow. “It’s not for something special?”

“I guess it could be for something special if we wanted it to be, but there wasn’t something in particular that I had in mind,” May said. “Sometimes it’s just nice to have treats on hand.”

“We almost never get ice cream,” Jemma said, her eyes aglow with delight. “Only for holidays and the birthday party.”

“The birthday party?”

“There were too many kids to do birthdays for everyone, so the nuns picked one day a year to be the birthday party for everyone. We got ice cream on that day, in those little cups with the wooden stick, you know?” Skye explained. “It was kind of fun, I guess. They did it in the summer, so we’d get to eat it outside, and Sister Beatrice usually blew up a balloon for everybody. It was nice, but Michaela Dodson always popped mine and Jemma’s before the end of the day.”

“I don’t like the sound,” Jemma piped, for clarification.

“One year Sister Beatrice found out that we didn’t have our balloons anymore, so she snuck us into the kitchen for extra ice cream instead,” Skye smiled. “That one turned out okay.”

“So, you’ve never had a birthday party?” May asked. “For yourself, I mean?”

“I remember a few from when I lived with my parents,” Jemma said quietly, lost in thought. “They invited some of the neighborhood children and we played pass the parcel.”

“I don’t even know when my birthday is,” Skye shrugged. “So I guess I never really cared that much about parties for them.”

“What about you Bobbi?” May wondered. “Did you have birthday parties?”

“A couple, when my mom was still around. She didn’t really like party planning very much, but she threw me a Star Wars themed one when I was six. My dad showed up late and they got in a huge fight and the cake ended up on the ground before we could eat it, so she didn’t try to throw a party after that.” Bobbi’s cheeks pinked. “I tried to bake myself a cake when I was ten. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe I thought turning double digits was a big enough deal to deserve a cake, I don’t really remember. We didn’t have any eggs in the house, so the cake turned out really bad. It was like a crumbly brick, and it fell apart when I tried to cut it. My dad got mad at me for wasting the flour and sugar, so I never tried again.”

May swallowed down the outrage and sadness that clawed at her throat at the idea of the three children in front of her never having a day to celebrate themselves. She certainly wasn’t one of those birthday fanatics, who went all out on a party or who used the day as an excuse to get away with doing whatever she wanted, but at least her parents had given her a gift, had sung to her and let her blow out candles. At least Phil cooked them a nice dinner and shared a glass of Haig with her each year.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “We’ll have to make sure we celebrate the right way when your birthdays come around, won’t we?”

All three girls wore expressions of varying shades of bashfulness, and none of them met her eye. Maybe they didn’t believe her. Maybe they were doubtful they’d still be here by the time their birthdays rolled around. She wished desperately for something to say that would quell all their fears, assure them of her good intentions, and help them trust in her words, but she knew she couldn’t conjure a magic phrase out of the air.

“So what kind of ice cream did you get?” Skye finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Oh, uh, Neapolitan,” May spluttered, snapping out of her reverie. “I didn’t know what people liked, so I went for one that had choices.”

“Cool.” Skye looked pleased, then tugged on her sneakers and headed outside to start bringing the groceries inside. Jemma followed suit, and Bobbi, under the raised eyebrow of May, retreated to the kitchen to do the unloading.

* * *

With all four of them working, it didn’t take long to get the food inside and put away. They enjoyed a raucous game of Uno afterwards, which Bobbi won, triumphantly snapping her final card – a wild card – down on the deck and emptying her hand.

“You can’t save your wild card for the end,” Skye pouted, crossing her arms stubbornly, “that’s cheating.”

“Is not,” Bobbi teased. “It’s strategy.”

“Well, it should be against the rules,” grumbled Skye. “There’s no way to stop you winning if you play like that.”

“That’s the point,” Bobbi grinned. “It’s not my fault you burned through your good cards at the beginning of the game.”

“I’m still not over you hitting me with two draw-threes in a row,” Phil complained to May. He had close to twenty cards still in his hand.

“I don’t think you would have won, regardless, dear,” May needled playfully. “The fact that you have all those cards and not one yellow among them is astounding.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t play Uno anymore,” Jemma suggested gently. “Everyone gets so competitive…”

“I think that’s supposed to be part of the fun,” Phil laughed. He started collecting the cards up and shuffling them back into a full deck. “But we should probably take a break, anyway. I have homework to grade and lessons to plan.”

“I have reading to catch up on for English,” Bobbi admitted, pulling herself to her feet and making for the door. “It’s more than I want to try and fit in tomorrow, so I think I’m going to read some now.”

May watched Bobbi and Phil drift away, then turned her gaze on Skye and Jemma, ready to ask a question. Skye’s eyes immediately narrowed with suspicion.

“You’re not going to say we should do our homework now, too, are you?” she asked dubiously. “Saturdays aren’t for homework. It’s just wrong. Like, against-the-laws-of-the-universe wrong. Saturdays are for fun stuff.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to suggest it,” May chuckled. “I know you’ll do it tomorrow afternoon. No, I was going to ask you something else, Skye.”

“What?”

“I’ve been busy at work this week with a new case, but now that it’s the weekend I have a little bit of free time and I was wondering if you wanted to help me look through that list of names you gave me from the hospital. I know I promised you we would work on this together.”

“Oh.” Skye looked surprised. May watched as Skye rubbed her thumb absentmindedly across a spot on her hand that had the faint smudges of not-quite scrubbed off ink still etched onto it. Skye hadn’t struck May as the type to doodle on her own hands, but the other day she had come home with a flower inked onto her skin. May hadn’t said anything; she remembered very well the fights she and her own mother had gotten into the year that May decided that her own hands and arms were the best place to take notes, and she had no desire to replicate the experience with Skye. It didn’t hurt anyone for Skye to draw on herself, and she might outgrow it, as May had. Still, it was an interesting new piece of Skye that May hadn’t seen before.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” May said quickly, misinterpreting Skye’s reserved response. “I just thought you might be interested in working on it with me. I wanted to keep my promise to you.”

“No, I do,” Skye assured her. “I just… I guess I didn’t expect… whatever. Yeah, I… I want to help. I’ll get my list.”

“Can I help, too?” Jemma asked tentatively. She was looking at Skye for an answer, not at May, so May stayed quiet. She might technically be the adult in charge of the investigation now, but it was still Skye’s mystery to solve, and they all knew it.

“Yeah,” Skye smiled. She caught herself, and looked over to check with May. “I mean, if it’s okay with you. It’s just, Jemma’s been kind of helping me with all this before, so she already knows…”

“Of course it’s okay,” May said gently. “We may need an extra brain working the problem. I don’t think any answers we’re looking for are going to come easily.”

Skye’s smile widened into a grin and she scampered up to her room to grab the list she had compiled at the hospital not so long ago, while May retrieved her computer from the office. When they both returned to the den, Skye was clutching several pages of notebook paper close to her chest. The pages had been ripped out of the notebook, so they still bore the straggly ends that came from being pulled loose from the spiral, and there were obvious creases where the papers had been folded and unfolded over and over again. May wondered briefly if Skye had been carrying the folded-up list around in her pocket.

“I… I don’t know how much help it’ll be,” Skye started, hesitation tripping up her voice. “But I thought it was better than nothing.”

“It definitely is,” May nodded stoutly. “I can’t promise we’ll find much, but we’re in a much better starting place now than where either of us was last time.”

May popped open her laptop and logged into her work database.

“I think the best place to start will be plugging each of those names into a search in the Sheboygan county records. Check them for birth certificates or any other significant records, like marriage licenses or—”

“Death certificates,” Skye said matter-of-factly. When May raised an eyebrow at her, Skye shrugged one shoulder up and down. “We might as well check. I know there’s a chance that’s what we’ll find. You don’t have to baby me about it. I know I might not get a good answer when I find them.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” May apologized. “I know you can handle this. I just want to make sure you’re prepared for… whatever we might find.” What _would_ they find, exactly? Was she herself prepared for whatever they might discover? Dead parents, or dead _beat_ parents? Parents who didn’t care that their daughter had endured years of mistreatment in the foster system or parents who wanted nothing more than to get their baby back? Or what about parents with a connection to a mysterious, unethical doctor that May had yet to find any real information on or mention to Skye? A shiver ran down the length of May’s spine. She wasn’t sure which potential answer she would consider the worst of the bunch. She wasn’t sure which one Skye would consider the worst, either.

“I’m ready,” Skye promised, recalling May’s focus to the task at hand. “Really.”

“Okay,” May said. She took a deep breath in through her nose. Focus. “Let’s get started, then.”

* * *

It was slow going, picking through Skye’s list of names. It didn’t help that Skye’s handwriting was difficult to read at the best of times, and she had clearly been hurrying to get down as many names as she could at the hospital, nor did it help that many of the names turned up dozens of results with no clear way of winnowing out the ones that weren’t actually related to their search.

“The next one is Mc…McKniley?” Skye said uncertainly, squinting at the paper.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before, will you spell it for me?” May asked, her fingers hovering over the keys.

Jemma leaned over and peered at the list over Skye’s shoulder. “McKinley,” she said helpfully. For whatever reason, Jemma almost never had trouble reading Skye’s writing, a feat that no one else in the family had yet to manage. “Like the president.”

“There was a president named McKinley?” Skye looked surprised. “When?”

“The 1800s maybe?” May suggested. “Phil would know, we can ask him.”

“He must have been one of those grumpy guys who all look alike and didn’t do anything exciting,” Skye smirked.

“He was assassinated,” Jemma said delicately. The playful smile slid off of Skye’s face and she blanched slightly.

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I feel bad for making fun of him now.”

“I don’t think anyone will hold it against you,” May reassured her. “It happened over a hundred years ago.” She finished typing in the name and scanned over the multiple results that now populated her screen. “Okay, so there’s about 8 different McKinleys with records in Sheboygan county. Death certificates for three of them… two of those happened more than 20 years ago, so I doubt that’s what we’re looking for.” She continued scrolling as Skye and Jemma watched intently. Unfortunately there wasn’t much to do in the way of collaboration at this point, since it was mostly just plugging in names and trying to narrow results, but May was determined to include Skye at every step of the way.

“All right here’s some birth records,” May nodded, her eye catching the new entry. “Let’s see if we can find the one that matches the hospital record.” She clicked through a birth certificate from the previous year, one from five years ago, and then landed on one from thirteen years ago. “Doug and Angela McKinley, parents of Kinsey Rae McKinley. 7 pounds, 2 ounces.”

“Kinsey McKinley?” Skye asked, wrinkling her nose. “Poor kid.”

“You’d think they’d pick something that had more than one letter difference from their last name,” Jemma mused.

“You’d think.”

“Do you think that could be your real name, Skye?” wondered Jemma. It was the question that Jemma had asked after every new name had come up. “Do you feel like a Kinsey?”

“Not especially,” Skye deadpanned. “I guess it’s still better than… well, you know.”

“There are no death records for Doug or Angela, and nothing in terms of divorce records, arrests, things like that,” May informed them, finishing her inspection of the remaining McKinley files.

“How do you spell ‘Kinsey’?” Skye asked. She was hunched over her paper, carefully writing out the names of the people on the birth certificate. Jemma spelled the name out loud for Skye and added: “There’s an ‘o’ in Doug. It’s different than like to dig a hole kind of dug.”

“I knew that.” Pink crept up Skye’s face as she scrubbed at the paper with her eraser and corrected the spelling of the man’s name. With a pang, May was reminded of how much they needed to figure out a way to help Skye with her reading and writing. They hadn’t had much in the way of further conversations since meeting with Polly last week. Phil had filled her in on what he and Skye had talked about that night, so May hoped that there was at least a small window of opportunity that they could use to help Skye see that going to a doctor wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but she knew there was a strong possibility that they still faced an uphill battle on that front.

“I’m sorry this is such slow going,” May said, after a while. Their progress had been minimal, aside from giving Skye first names to add to her list. “The county records don’t really give us much in terms of showing us whether the children on the birth certificates are still with their parents or not. I might be able to run the names through a more powerful search at work, especially now that we have full names, but…” She trailed off. She didn’t know how to break it to Skye that their search might turn up even less than they’d hoped for.

“What if…” Skye started speaking, but faltered. Her eyes were sparking with an idea, but something was holding her back. May looked at her expectantly.

“What?”

“It might be a stupid idea…”

“I doubt that,” May smiled. “We’re still in the early part of an investigation. Sometimes the wildest ideas are the very thing that a team needs to jumpstart a discovery.”

“Alexander Flemming accidentally grew mold on his bacteria samples, and he when he saw that the mold prevented the bacteria from spreading, he got the idea that you could use the mold to cure infections. That probably seemed like a silly idea to the other people in the lab, but without it, we wouldn’t have gotten penicillin,” Jemma pointed out.

“Plus, I trust your instincts,” May said seriously. “What are you thinking, Skye?”

“Well, I just thought, if you’re looking for information on the families today, to see if they’re still together and stuff like that… why not google them? A lot of them probably have social media. I bet a bunch of parents like to post things about their kids, and grownups are usually pretty bad about restricting their privacy settings. We could start with Facebook. That’s the one old people mostly use.”

“I’m going to ignore the old comment,” May smiled wryly, “mainly because I think that’s an excellent suggestion.” Not that she would ever admit it, but May was a little embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to peruse the internet for signs of these people’s lives. One of the main things she was supposed to be able to do as a detective was use the tools at her disposal to uncover and piece together any and all relevant information, and she had completely overlooked one of the most information-rich tools on the planet.

She opened a new tab and plugged the McKinley family’s names into the search bar. It didn’t take long at all to find a public Facebook profile from Angela McKinley, which was emblazoned with family photos, questionable political takes, and, strangely enough, several pictures of those little yellow cartoon creatures wearing goggles and overalls. She wasn’t positive, but May thought they were from a series of kids’ movies, which didn’t help to clear up why exactly the yellow tic-tac shaped critters were paired with text boxes about drinking wine or shopping for shoes.

“Grownups are weird,” Skye said, wrinkling her nose as she craned her neck to get a good look at the computer screen.

“You’re not wrong.” May could feel her eyebrows creeping further and further up her forehead as she skimmed over Angela McKinley’s page. “For what it’s worth, none of this makes any sense to me, either.”

“There,” Skye said suddenly, holding out her hand for May to stop scrolling. May followed Skye’s gaze to a photo on screen. In it, a middle-aged couple, Doug and Angela, presumably, were posed under an autumn tree, laughing and smiling at a blonde-haired, pink-cheeked daughter who looked about Skye’s age. The girl was beaming, a sparkly crown jauntily perched on her head and a sash reading “Appleton Jr. Harvest Queen.”

“I guess they don’t live in Sheboygan anymore,” May said. She didn’t know what else to say about the picture in front of them. The picture was idyllic, an All-American family with their Apple Queen of a daughter and two, loving parents. It was almost sickly sweet, in a way. May could practically feel the scorn and sadness radiating off of Skye’s body, and her heart ached. She wished she could have rewound the clock a few minutes and kept the picture from Skye’s view.

“What’s a Jr. Harvest Queen?” Jemma asked gingerly.

“I’m assuming it’s a prize they give out at a festival in Appleton,” May said, after a moment. “A lot of towns around here like to have different festivals and celebrations during the year. You should get Phil to tell you the story of the time he tried to ask the New Holstein Butter Queen to prom.”

“You made that up!” Skye swiveled around and looked at May incredulously.

“I wish I did, but it’s true. She said no, by the way.”

The girls started to giggle, and May was happy to see that the stormy look had dissipated from Skye’s eyes. Skye had promised her that she was ready for whatever she might learn about her parents, but May realized now that neither one of them had thought to prepare Skye for what she might learn about the families that weren’t hers. The families that could have been.

“Do you want to keep going?” she asked Skye. “Or do you want to stop for the day?”

“We can keep going,” Skye decided. “We didn’t get through very many yet.”

They plunged ahead, sifting through name after name. Most families turned out to be like the McKinleys – no notable records, easily discoverable accounts of their current family makeup scattered across the internet for them to pick up and sift through. A few had some noticeable differences. One family, the Highbens, had a death certificate for the father of the baby girl a few years after her birth certificate was issued, and the mother was listed on a marriage license to another man a few years after that. Their google search revealed that the mother and stepfather seemed to still be happily married, and the girl Skye’s age now had two younger brothers.

Several families had records of divorces and remarriages, and there were even a few that had arrest records connected to one or both of the parents listed on the birth certificates. Some were minor traffic offenses or things like public intoxication, but a few were more serious crimes that could have carried jail time. May kept her own list of those names, for further investigation. Sometimes when parents became incarcerated, their children were placed into foster care if there was no other family able to care for them. Maybe that was what had happened to Skye.

“Go back to that one,” Skye interrupted, as May clicked quickly through an arrest record for a man who had been charged with assault with a deadly weapon. She knew Skye was made of tougher stuff than a lot of people had given her credit for, but she wasn’t interested in lingering on a report of a brutal stabbing while her 13-year-old daughter was reading over her shoulder.

“It’s a report about a violent crime, Skye, are you sure you need to see that?”

“I just want to see the name again,” Skye told her. May acquiesced and returned to the page. It was just a text report of the charges and arrest, not the full file, so there was no picture and a lot of legal shorthand jumbling up the page.

“There,” May said, pointing. “Johnson. Calvin. Cal for short, it looks like.”

“He was on our list?” Something about Skye’s voice set May’s ears on high alert. There was a breathlessness to it, an uneasiness.

“As far as I can tell, he’s the same Calvin Johnson from the birth certificate, yes. But without looking deeper at the records I can’t say for sure. It’s a common name. Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Skye said quickly. It was an obvious lie, but May didn’t know where to press on it. She had no idea what had set Skye off.

“Can I see the birth certificate again?”

A bad seed of a feeling planted itself in May’s stomach, her spidey-senses tingling hard. Against her better judgement, she clicked over to the birth certificate bearing Calvin Johnson’s name.

“Calvin Johnson. Jiaying Johnson. Daughter Daisy, 8 pounds even.”

Skye’s face was unreadable, which May found unsettling. She thought she had been getting better at picking out Skye’s emotions recently. She noticed as Skye drug her thumb across the inky patch on the back of her hand again, almost as though she didn’t realize what she was doing.

“Is everything okay, Skye? You’re scaring me a little.”

“It’s… it’s nothing. I just…” Skye wasn’t looking at her. She was staring hard at the computer screen, then at the floor. Her shoulders caved inwards slightly, hunching Skye in on herself. She was shutting down. May was losing her.

“Skye?”

“I… I think I want to stop now,” Skye said finally. Her voice was flat, tired. Alarm bells were clanging in May’s head, but she didn’t know what else to say but “Okay.” She didn’t know what questions to ask, she didn’t know how to peer inside of Skye’s mind and pluck out whatever it was that had caused such a drastic and sudden change in her demeanor.

“Skye, is there something about those names? Do they mean something to you?” It was the best May could muster. She couldn’t let Skye disappear again. Couldn’t let her walk away without at least trying to untangle the new mystery in front of her. The last time she had left Skye alone with her thoughts like this, she had ended up pulling a soaking wet child off of a street corner in a town miles from their home. She couldn’t let that happen again.

“No,” Skye said. May waited, the unspoken request for elaboration thick in the air. Skye squirmed a little under May’s gaze, but May was determined not to let her off the hook, as painful as it was to keep fishing. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s probably nothing. I just… I shouldn’t have looked at the crime report, I guess. I didn’t think it would bother me, but I guess I was wrong.”

“You’re sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

“I’m sure.” Skye didn’t meet her eyes. There was no doubt in May’s mind that Skye was very deliberately keeping something hidden, but Skye was already pulling away to the door, head ducked, feet dragging. The conversation was over, whether May wanted it to be or not.

“Skye,” she called, in a desperate, final attempt. Skye stiffened in the doorway, but stopped at least, and turned her head back slightly to show she was listening. “Skye, if… if something’s bothering you… we want you to be able to tell us. Me or Phil. Someone. You know you can talk to us, right? We want to be able to help you.”

“I know,” Skye said quietly. “Thank you.” She waited for a beat longer before asking if she could go upstairs to her room.

“Of course. We’ll let you know when lunch is ready, okay?”

Skye didn’t respond, just disappeared out into the hallway. The sound of her footsteps traipsing up the stairs above them carried down, mixing with a light, nervous tap from Jemma, the only noise between the two of them for several minutes.

“Do you have any idea what all that was about?” May finally asked. She didn’t love the idea of pumping Jemma for information about Skye, but she was trying her hardest not to repeat her mistakes from last time, and leaving Jemma out of the loop had certainly been a mistake.

“No,” Jemma murmured. She was tapping anxiously on her knee. She was always so worried about Skye, so protective of her. May was starting to understand the feeling. “Something’s bothering her, but I can’t tell what. She didn’t like those last names we looked up, though.”

“No,” May agreed. “Something doesn’t feel right.” Her mind was churning away, looking for loose threads that she could use to connect the vast collection of untethered dots that made up their current investigation. The assault report for Calvin Johnson bore a few unsettling similarities to the mysterious attack on Dr. Whitehall at the hospital, but without the full file, she couldn’t be sure that it was anything more than just a coincidence. Jiaying was a Chinese name, and while Skye had never talked about her ethnicity before, May wondered if there was something about seeing a non-English name pop up on their list that caught Skye’s attention. Even if it wasn’t that, _something_ had set Skye off about those names, and Melinda May was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“I’ll look out for her,” Jemma said quietly, turning her warm, worried eyes on May. “I don’t want her to run away again.”

“Neither do I,” said May, a sad smile creasing the corners of her mouth. As much as she wanted to solve Skye’s mystery, she couldn’t lose sight of the other children right in front of her. “I know you’ll look out for her. You always do. You’re a very good friend to Skye, Jemma. Not everyone is so lucky to have someone like you looking out for them.”

“She’s a good friend to me, too.”

“I know. And I’m so happy you two have each other.” May paused, considering briefly if the question she was about to ask was the right one. “Do you… You know that it doesn’t just have to be the two of you against the world anymore, right? I don’t ever want to diminish what the two of you have, but I also want to make sure you understand that Phil and I, we’re very much in your corner. We want to look out for both of you, too. You and Skye don’t have to handle everything on your own anymore. You know that?”

“I… I know,” Jemma faltered. “I’m just not used to it, I suppose.”

“I understand. It takes practice when you’re learning how to let someone else take care of you. But I’ll tell you something, Jemma, I’ve learned from experience that it’s so very worth it. It’s worth the hard work and the practice, because letting someone into your life who cares about you and who wants nothing but the best for you, the way that you and Skye care about each other, it’s one of those things that just makes life so much better. Our lives are enriched by the people we choose to put in them. You and Skye and Bobbi have already made my life and Phil’s life so incredible. We’re very grateful that you’ve given that gift to us, and we’d like to be able to return the favor one day.”

Jemma blushed furiously, but her tapping slowed and a smile toyed across her face. May reached out and gave Jemma’s shoulder a squeeze, and before she could pull her hand away, Jemma leaned into her arm, pressing her cheek against the back of May’s hand. Jemma’s fingers drifted upwards from her knee and lighted on May’s wrist, tapping out a sweet, simple beat on the arm that was still holding on to Jemma’s shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Melinda May didn’t know a lot of things about being a parent, about her foster daughters, about how to nurture and guide the three young lives before her, but she knew enough to know exactly what Jemma had just said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. I'm so sorry it took us two weeks to get here. Things have just been so out of whack, and work's been a bear. BUT we're back and there's a new chapter and I already have the next three drafted, so hopefully it won't take so long next time :) As always, I can't thank you enough for reading! Y'all are amazing <3


	50. Simmering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor swearing, references to bullying, homophobia

Ever since her run-in with Raina at Skye’s tutoring session, Bobbi had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. She had filled her friends in on the encounter at lunch the next day, and was met with varying degrees of confusion.

“What is her problem?” Clint wanted to know. “That’s the second time she’s messed with the kid, isn’t it Nat?”

“Yeah, she was super nosy that first day I met Skye, too. Do you know what they were talking about?” Natasha asked.

Bobbi shook her head sadly. “No. By the time I got there it was pretty clear that Skye was doing her best to shut down whatever conversation had been going on, but Raina wasn’t letting it go. I tried to ask Skye about it, but she kept avoiding the question. Raina said something about Skye wanting answers, and Skye said they talked about her name, but I don’t see how those things are connected. All I know is, whatever Raina said really upset Skye, even if she was pretending like it didn’t. And now Raina has my number because I interrupted their little chat before she could get her hooks into Skye.”

“I should have been there,” Natasha muttered darkly. “If I had been there, Raina wouldn’t have been paired with Skye and none of it would’ve happened.”

“It was your day off,” Mack said gently. “You weren’t supposed to be there.”

“You can’t control the rest of the world, Nat,” Clint murmured.

“No one blames you,” Bobbi assured her. “The only person I blame is Raina. She should know better than to go messing with kids’ heads like that.”

“Maybe so, but that’s clearly not stopping her,” scowled Hunter. “You don’t have any idea what kind of answers Skye might be looking for? You don’t want Raina filling her head if there’s something she’s trying to find.”

“Her parents,” Bobbi said softly, after a minute. “She’s been looking for her parents. But how would Raina know anything about Skye’s parents that Skye or May hasn’t been able to find out already themselves?”

“She’s full of it,” Clint scoffed. “She doesn’t know a damn thing; she just gets her kicks in toying with people. I guess since most people here have wised up to her tricks, she’s moved on to middle schoolers now.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Mack cautioned. “You know she always manages to find out stuff that nobody else knows. I’m not saying Skye should listen to her, but we can’t rule out the possibility that there is _something_ Raina has that she can dangle over her. And you have to be careful too, Bobbi,” Mack added, after a beat. _Careful. Careful._ “If Raina’s mad at you for interrupting her time with Skye, she’ll look for whatever she can find on you. You should probably lay low for a while.”

“Bobbi’s fine.” Hunter waved his hand in a lazy shooing motion. “She’s not scared of the nosy flower queen, are you, Bob? Besides, it’s not like you have some big secret that you’re trying to hide.” He grinned, and Bobbi’s stomach twisted. _Secret. Secret. Secret._ She hadn’t told Hunter the truth about foster care yet. She hadn’t told any of the boys. She wanted to, and she meant to, but there just hadn’t been a right time yet. As well as things had gone with Natasha, Bobbi still didn’t know how to start the conversation with the guys. There was no easy segue from homework or soccer scores into _“hey, just so you know, I’ve been lying to you for almost two months and I’m living in foster care after being pounded within an inch of my life by my own father.”_ Natasha’s eyes cut over to Bobbi, filling her up with silent assurance.

True to her word, Natasha hadn’t said anything to the others, nor had she pressured Bobbi into coming clean. Still, they both knew it had to happen eventually, and maybe now was as good an opportunity as Bobbi was going to get. Bobbi had no idea how Raina would be able to discover all of the things that she was keeping hidden, but if Raina was as good at gleaning information as her reputation suggested, Bobbi didn’t particularly want to wait around and see what she could dig up. She especially didn’t want her friends to hear the truth from Raina instead of from her – somehow Bobbi knew that would be ten times worse than just admitting the truth herself.

“There’s something–” Bobbi started to say. Her voice wasn’t working, and no one heard her speak. Just as she cleared her throat to try again, Hunter spoke instead.

“Anyway, Raina’s going to have bigger things to pay attention to soon,” he said mischievously. “Her and Ward and all his neanderthal friends.” Whatever big retaliation he and Mack and Clint had been planning against Ward for the net-cutting debacle, this was the week they were going to put it into action. All three had been suspiciously tight-lipped about the plan, but every time one of them brought it up, the other two got a gleam in their eye that told Bobbi that Ward wasn’t going to be a happy camper.

“You’re seriously not going to tell us what you’ve got planned?” Natasha asked, not for the first time. “Don’t you think you ought to run the idea past us? You don’t want to do something so outrageously stupid that it gets you pulverized by Ward.”

“Or expelled from school,” Bobbi added.

“You worry too much,” Clint chuckled. “We’re going to be fine. We can handle Ward.”

“And we’re not planning anything that’s expulsion-worthy,” Mack promised.

“Look,” Clint said, taking note of the unamused expression on Natasha’s face. “If we don’t tell you what we’re doing, then you have plausible deniability if it goes south. We don’t plan on getting caught, and like Mack said, it’s not enough to get us expelled, but this way, you can be kept out of it.”

“How very noble of you,” Natasha said drily, with a roll of her eyes. _Sarcasm_. “You seem to forget who masterminded the great hamster liberation plot of 7th grade. I would think you’d want someone of my skills working on this with you.”

“I’ll admit, the hamster thing was one of your finest achievements,” Clint grinned, “but this thing with Ward is personal. It’s a matter of pride.”

“Do you know how many times the football team has been given money for new uniforms in the last ten years?” Mack asked. “Three. Meanwhile the soccer team still wears jerseys from a decade ago, and we had to agree to raise the money ourselves to get new ones this year. We almost had enough until we had to spend it on repairing the nets that Ward and his goons trashed.”

“Plus they got rid of our grass to make way for turf, because apparently American football can’t possibly be played on anything but the finest plastic,” Hunter glowered. “Never mind the damage it does to the other sports teams’ knees and elbows.”

“Okay, point taken,” Natasha said, holding her hands up in surrender. “You guys worry about Ward and your manly turf wars, and Bobbi and I will focus on handling the Raina situation, then. I have to channel my scheme-making energy somewhere.”

“Deal,” said Clint. “I, for one, can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“That makes two of us,” Natasha said with a grimace.

The bell rang then, and they all began to clear up their lunch trash. Before they went their separate ways, Hunter craned his neck back towards where Bobbi and Natasha were standing.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” he told them, “but I’d stay away from the football game this Friday. And really just away from the American football team in general this weekend. I mean, I know that’s a good general policy to have, seeing as they’re all a bunch of smelly doorknobs to begin with, but if you’re smart…”

“No football this weekend,” Bobbi said, nodding slowly.

“Plausible deniability,” murmured Natasha. She and Bobbi started making their way down the hall to French, an uneasiness still hanging thickly around them like a heavy yoke of nerves around their necks. “Why do I get the feeling we’re all in for one hell of a storm?”

* * *

The weekend passed quietly, which was almost more unsettling to Bobbi than just receiving news of some huge prank war blowout that had gone down at the football game on Friday. Monday, too, came and went without a word about the boys’ weekend activities, although she and Natasha had tried to ask. So far all they’d managed to get from any of them was a coy smile from Hunter and the cryptic comment that “laundry doesn’t get back until Tuesday.”

Raina had been similarly silent, which was grating on Bobbi’s nerves nearly as much as the football feud. Bobbi hated the stupid mind games people tried to play with you, the toying around with your feelings, the drawn out anticipation intended to make you lose your cool, the frustrating cat-and-mouse of it all. She’d rather just have it out with somebody once and for all. It was unpleasant in the moment, but whatever fallout came from a confrontation was usually an easier pill to swallow than the constant waiting and watching to see who would crack first. At his angriest, her father had been terrifying, but the shouting, fist-swinging, plate-throwing anger was at least something she could anticipate and ride out until it had subsided. It was always so much worse when his anger was stewing, building up and simmering beneath the surface, with no indication of when it was going to boil over. Bobbi couldn’t prepare for that kind of anger, and she could never be sure what was going to trigger it. She hated the waiting and the not knowing of it all.

“Maybe she’s forgotten about it,” Mack suggested kindly, when Bobbi had tried to express some of her Raina anxiety to him in homeroom on Tuesday morning.

“Do you really believe that?” Bobbi asked, raising her eyebrow in what she considered to be a decent impression of May.

“Not really,” confessed Mack. He rubbed he back of his neck sheepishly. “I was just trying to give you a ‘glass half full’ kind of opinion.”

“That’s only nice when the glass actually is half full,” Bobbi said flatly. “Otherwise it’s just wishful thinking and willful ignorance.”

“Fair point,” Mack conceded. “But hey, here’s an actual bright side you can look on – laundry comes back today.”

“You’re still not going to tell us what that means?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” smiled Mack. “I bet by the time we get to the soccer game tonight, it’ll all be crystal clear.”

The girls’ soccer team had their final home game of the season that night, and everyone was planning to go. If the girls won tonight, they’d have an undefeated regular season, and would lock up top seeding in the state tournament.

“You’re still coming, right?” Mack asked. “Hunter would blow a gasket if you weren’t coming.”

“Him and everybody else,” Bobbi pointed out.

“Sure,” said Mack. “Everybody else, too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Mack said quickly. “Seriously, though, you’re coming?”

“Of course.” Bobbi smiled. “It’s all anybody’s been talking about. I even think Phil and May are coming with Skye and Jemma.”

“Oh, that’ll make Turbo’s day,” chuckled Mack. “You know, the last time he played video games with us, Jemma and Skye were all he could talk about. They’re doing some research project or something? I don’t know, I didn’t catch all of it, but he was excited. Got him distracted enough that I was able to take out his left sentry tower before he knew what hit him.”

“Is it really fair of you to clobber a little kid at video games all the time?” Bobbi teased.

“It’s not like he’s six,” Mack laughed. “Besides, we’re very evenly matched. I have to take advantage of his distractions if I want an edge. Also I have it on good authority that you smoked Skye at Uno not that long ago.”

“She’s still mad about that?” Bobbi shook her head in amused disbelief.

“You’re a wild-card hoarder, from what I hear,” needled Mack. “Not the most sporting way to play.”

“It is if you want to stand a chance at winning in that house,” Bobbi defended. “May’s scary good at games, and I’m pretty sure Jemma counts cards. Not on purpose, but I’m almost positive she keeps track subconsciously.”

“Remind me never to come over for game night.” Mack was laughing now, and Bobbi couldn’t help but crack a smile of her own.

“You have no idea.”

* * *

“If they win tonight, they’ll get a first-round bye—”

“Hunter, we’re trying to watch the movie.”

“—which is huge, because it means they’ll have extra time to prep for Whitefish Bay, who’s probably going to demolish Oostburg in the first round—”

“Hunter, shut up, will you?”

“Of course, there’s always the possibility of a Mishicot rematch later on in the tournament. If they lose tonight, they might have to face Mishicot right away—”

“Hunter!” Mack wheeled around in his desk to shoot daggers at Hunter, who hadn’t stopped talking since Phil had started up _The Bride of Frankenstein_ (in honor of the upcoming holiday, according to Phil). “Put a sock in it. I’m not letting you make me miss Karloff.”

“What?”

“Boris Karloff,” Elena explained. “He’s the monster.”

“And a cinematic treasure,” Mack grumbled.

“Definitely a better monster than Lugosi,” Elena nodded.

“Whoever had the idea to get Dracula to play Frankenstein’s monster had less sense than the original Victor Frankenstein,” grinned Mack.

“Okay, now who’s talking through the movie?” Hunter quipped. “Get a room, you two.”

Mack went scarlet and shoved Hunter playfully, but both remained quiet for the rest of the movie. Elena looked a little bashful at the comment, but she held her composure far better than Mack did.

“You’d think these guys would learn their lesson,” Natasha said under her breath, inclining her head towards the projector screen. On it, Dr. Frankenstein was agreeing to work with another mad scientist to make a second creature.

“I think it’s very thoughtful of them,” Clint said cheekily. “The poor monster deserves to have a friend, don’t you think?”

“He wouldn’t need one if Frankenstein had done his job right and actually raised his monster-son, instead of throwing him to the wolves and angry mobs.”

“But this way he’ll get his bride and they can be monsters _together_!” Clint wagged his eyebrows and slung an arm around Natasha’s shoulders, pulling her close and making kissy faces. “Isn’t it just romantic?”

“You’re an idiot,” Natasha smirked, wriggling free of Clint’s grasp. Her eyes were soft as she teased him, though, and Bobbi could tell that Natasha didn’t really think that about him at all.

“Maybe so, but you’re the one who still hangs out with me,” he teased back.

“Hey! Peanut gallery! There’s a movie going on, if you don’t mind,” called one of the boys in the club that Bobbi still couldn’t tell apart. Eric, maybe, or Billy. There were four of them who all looked alike, plus their sister, and Bobbi had yet to keep straight which one was which. They all took their movie watching very seriously, though.

They passed the rest of the lunch period in relative quiet after the dressing down from whichever Koenig brother it was, and Phil stopped the movie about five minutes before the bell.

“To be continued,” he told them. He was trying to make his voice sound spooky, like it belonged in the monster movie, but it came out sounding more like Kermit the frog, which cracked everybody up.

“Okay, so I don’t have a career as a voice actor ahead of me,” he chuckled. “At least I’ve still got my day job. Can I get two of you to stay behind and put my classroom back in order for me?”

Eager to flex her newly braced knee, Bobbi volunteered quickly, and was joined not long after by Elena.

“I think it’s my turn,” she said. “We used to have a sign-up sheet for set up and tear down, but that only lasted a week or two. Still, I try to follow the schedule.”

“Much appreciated, girls,” smiled Phil. “I have to run and copy off a worksheet for my next class, but I’ll be right back.” He slipped into the hallway along with most of the other club members. Natasha had asked if Bobbi wanted her to wait so they could go to French together, but Bobbi waved her on. Mack too had lingered, but Hunter dragged him unceremoniously out of the room, begging to see his notes for geometry one last time before their upcoming quiz.

“You know a lot about movies,” Bobbi said, once the room had emptied. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to make small talk in this situation, but she thought it might be the polite thing to do. She liked Elena, but they had never really had much of a conversation between just the two of the, outside of a few post-game recaps.

“I like movies,” Elena smiled. “My dad learned a lot of his English watching old movies on TV when he immigrated here from Colombia, and he met my mom at an old film festival a couple of towns over, so he’s always made sure I had a good movie education. And my cousin Joey and I used to have movie nights on the nights our parents were working late. We’d build forts in the living room and watch as many scary movies as we could before we scared ourselves so bad we couldn’t go to sleep.” She was moving around the room much quicker than Bobbi, sometimes pushing two desks at once. It didn’t escape Bobbi’s notice, however, that the younger girl was still treading tenderly on her left ankle.

“Your ankle okay?”

“Hmm?” Elena arranged her face into a perfect picture of confused innocence. If Bobbi hadn’t just been watching the way Elena was walking, she might have been fooled into believing that Elena genuinely had no idea what Bobbi was talking about.

“Your ankle. You’re still favoring it. You got cleated weeks ago. I thought it would have healed up by now.”

“Oh, that. It’s fine,” Elena said casually, with a wave of her hand. “Just tweaked it again in practice the other day. I’m trying to go easy on it so I can go full speed tonight.”

“Have you had somebody look at it? A doctor or the trainer or somebody? Leg injuries are no joke.” Bobbi indicated her own knee to illustrate the point, but Elena seemed unfazed.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll bounce back, I always do.” Seeing the concerned look on Bobbi’s face, Elena surrendered slightly. “If it’s still bothering me after I get us into the playoffs tonight, I’ll let the trainer take a look. We win tonight and we’ll have a bye, so I’ll have time to rest it.”

“It’s your ankle,” Bobbi conceded. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. The team needs you, and you’re good enough to play into college if you don’t put yourself out of commission while you’re still a freshman.”

“You think so?”

“Sure,” Bobbi nodded. “You’re easily the best player out there on the field, no matter who you’re playing.”

“Not Kara Palamas?” Elena asked the question like it was a joke, but her eyes betrayed her. Her eyes were deeply serious.

“Kara’s good,” Bobbi shrugged. “She’s older, so she has a few years of training on you, but you’re faster, and you have way better vision. You can read plays. Kara can’t. She just laser focuses on the goal.”

“Not a bad trait in a striker,” Elena smiled.

“No,” Bobbi agreed. “Just not ideal if you’re looking for a complete player. Which you are.”

“Thanks.” Elena looked almost more bashful than when Hunter had acted like she and Mack were flirting.

“You excited for tonight?” Bobbi asked, after the silence had lingered a bit too long over the pair of them.

“I think so. Roncalli shouldn’t be too hard, especially compared to Mishicot, but they’re one of the better teams in our league. We can’t get complacent.” Bobbi nodded thoughtfully, and they were quiet once more, until Elena spoke again in a hesitant voice. Her eyes were darting across the floor, and her mouth was twisted up slightly at the corners. _Nervous face, maybe. Or unsure._

“Can I ask you a question? About your knee?”

“I guess.” The back of Bobbi’s neck grew warm and something tightened in her chest. It was probably a completely innocent question, but that didn’t stop Bobbi’s old defensive hackles raising up like they always did whenever someone asked about her injuries.

“Has it been hard? Rehabbing it and everything? Do you think you’ll be able to play like you used to?”

“Oh.” That hadn’t been the question Bobbi was expecting. She thought for a minute before answering. “It’s been… actually, yeah, it’s been tough. Getting used to walking with crutches was hard, and then getting used to walking without them is hard, too. And now that I’m walking again, I want to be able to do stuff like I used to, but I can’t. Not yet, at least. I think the only reason I’m forcing myself not to go too fast is that I know the best chance I have of playing again is to do this the right way. But the waiting…”

“Sucks,” Elena supplied, with a small smile. Bobbi nodded, and returned it.

“Totally.” Bobbi shoved the last desk into place and Elena held out her hand for a high five.

“We make a good team,” she grinned, as Bobbi reached over and obliged the high five invitation. The sharp contact of palm against palm felt good to Bobbi, almost electric. For a fleeting moment, Bobbi could picture herself side by side with Elena on the soccer field, doing the exact same thing after a snappy play.

“You know what I miss the most?” Bobbi asked suddenly. Elena raised her eyebrows and turned her full attention on Bobbi. Her face held an unspoken inquiry, prompting Bobbi to continue. “Running. Hunter thinks I’m… well, he uses the word ‘mental–’” The corners of Bobbi’s mouth twitched into a smile as she heard Hunter’s indignation echoing in her mind. “He doesn’t get it. But I miss being able to just… _go_ anytime I feel like it.”

“I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t run,” Elena said, shaking her head. “Nothing feels as good. You just fly, you know? You’re free, and you’re going fast, and it feels like nothing can stop you as long as your legs keep moving.”

“Exactly.” Bobbi had suspected that if anyone would understand her longing to start running again, it would be Elena. It was why she had brought the subject up in the first place. “I haven’t been able to run in almost two months and I feel like I just have all this energy pent up inside of me.”

“Well, as soon as you’re cleared to run again, let me know,” Elena smiled. “I’m always looking for a conditioning partner in the off-season. We can burn off that extra energy together.”

“It’s a deal,” Bobbi agreed, gathering up her things and making her way towards the door. “Good luck tonight. We’ll see you after the game.”

* * *

While not quite as electric as the atmosphere before the Mishicot game had been, there was a definite buzzing in the air before the start of the game that night. Hunter, Mack, and Fitz had picked up Bobbi like they usually did, and Fitz was elated to learn that Skye and Jemma would be meeting them at the game later. He talked the whole drive to the stadium, rattling off stats about the Roncalli High offense and interspersing his soccer analysis with little tidbits about what he, Jemma, and Skye had been up to at school that week.

Hunter was pretending to be exasperated with Fitz, but Bobbi could tell he was just as excited for the game as Fitz was. The corners of his mouth wouldn’t stay put – twitching and dancing upward anytime the subject of the game came up – and his posture was more alert than it usually was. Not just an _eager, excited face_ , but an eager, excited _Hunter_.

Their enthusiasm was infectious, and Bobbi couldn’t help but share in the wild speculating about strategies and starting lineups. Still, there was something gnawing away at a tiny part of her stomach. A kind of foreboding feeling warning her that she shouldn’t let her guard down tonight. There was no real reason for the feeling to be scratching away at her like it was, but Bobbi couldn’t shake it or talk herself out of it. It was the kind of feeling she hadn’t really felt since leaving her dad, and there was something deeply unsettling about its return that Bobbi couldn’t quite name.

They got to the stadium without any trouble, though, and wasted no time in heading over to the bleachers, where Natasha and Clint were waiting for them. A third person, a boy with a round face and close-cropped brown hair who Bobbi didn’t recognize, was sitting with them. He must have been someone the others knew, however, because both Mack and Hunter’s face split into grins at the sight of him.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Hunter crowed as they approached. He slapped the boy on the shoulder, and the boy smiled back, clapping Hunter on the arm.

“You’re looking miserable, Hunter,” he ribbed back. He turned to Mack and his smile widened. “Hey, Mack. Good to see you.”

Mack wrapped the boy up in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, too, man. It’s been way too long. How are you? How’s your new school?”

“It’s good. We have to wear uniforms, and the khakis aren’t really my style, but classes are good. I’ve got some friends there, guys from the football team, you know. They have a really strict policy about bullying and harassment and stuff, so that hasn’t been a problem at all.”

“That’s really awesome to hear, man,” Mack said seriously. “I’m sorry for how things went down here, but it sounds like the new school is working out.”

“It is,” the boy smiled. He noticed Bobbi, then, and gave her a small wave. “Hi, I’m Joey. Sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bobbi assured him. “I’m Bobbi. I’m new this year.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Elena’s cousin, by the way. Used to go here.”

“Until a bunch of small-minded numbskulls decided to ruin your life,” Natasha grumbled through gritted teeth.

“They’re morons,” the boy, Joey, shrugged. “I mean, yeah, they made my life basically hell all last year, but I’ve come a long way since then. Plus, I get to start at Safety _and_ Wide Receiver now.” He laughed, and everyone else smiled weakly.

“I was on the football team here last year,” he explained, for Bobbi’s benefit. “I didn’t get much playing time to begin with, since I was about six inches shorter and 30 pounds lighter than I am now, and Christian and Brock and Carl and all those guys were favorites of Coach Garett. Now I’m bigger and stronger and on a team that actually gives people playing time.”

“And your teammates, they’re good guys?” Clint asked. “They’re not primordial ooze monsters like Ward and company?”

“No, they’re good. I’m actually not the only gay guy on the team, and everybody’s real chill about it all. Our coaches make sure we’re being respectful and everything. Like I said, the school takes bullying really seriously.”

“Wow, that must be a nice change of pace,” Hunter said drily.

“I heard about what’s going on between the soccer team and the football team,” said Joey. “Elena keeps me posted. I’m sorry they wrecked your guys’ nets. That was a low blow.”

“Well, no one was surprised that Ward started taking cheap shots,” Mack grimaced.

“We’re getting him back,” said Hunter slyly. “Laundry came back today.”

“I’m really sick of that stupid code you guys keep using.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “I wish you’d just tell us what you did. It’s over now, it’s not like we’d get caught up in anything.”

“But it’ll be so much more fun for you to just see it for yourself,” chuckled Clint. “I want to watch a pure, unspoiled reaction from you. It’s going to be gold.”

“You suck,” Natasha smirked. “And I’m pretty sure this is the only time you’ve kept spoilers to yourself. I’m still not over you wrecking the ending to _Sixth Sense_.”

“That movie’s like twenty years old,” Clint protested. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t already know the twist to one of the most referenced movie twists of all time?”

“I grew up in war-torn Russia, for one,” teased Natasha. “Not a lot of time for movie theaters.”

“I’m just saying, it’s like not knowing that Darth Vader is Luke’s—”

“Hey man, spoilers!” Joey cried, clapping his hands over his ears. Clint’s jaw dropped.

“Dude, come on. _Star Wars_?”

“I’m just messing with you.” Joey dropped his hands and elbowed Clint with a grin. “I know Vader is Luke’s secret evil twin.” Everyone else cracked up, besides Clint, who scowled.

“Ha ha,” Clint said flatly. “You guys are so funny. Let’s all make fun of Clint, just because he expects people to have a little awareness of art and culture.” _Sarcasm_.

Something tugged lightly on the sleeve of Bobbi’s jacket, and she looked around to see Fitz peering up at her.

“Are they going to be here soon?” he asked pitifully. Bobbi felt bad that she had basically forgotten Fitz was still sitting with them. She arranged her face into a sympathetic smile.

“They were almost ready to leave when you picked me up,” she said. “Skye was having trouble finding her left shoe, and they still had to wash the supper dishes, but I think they were close. They should be here any minute.”

“Okay.” Fitz seemed satisfied with the answer, and went back to watching the warmups on the field. Bobbi copied him, taking in the girls below. She spotted Elena first, her long hair tied back into a braid down her back. The braid swung back and forth as Elena jogged in place, stretching and flexing her legs and blowing on her hands to keep them warm in the chilly end-of-October air. Kara Palamas too seemed focused, hopping up and down in place and drawing her knees up as high as she could. She had a steely look on her face, and Bobbi could tell that Kara wanted to win the game badly. Some of the other Manitowoc players, like Piper from AV club and the red-haired defender Alisha, seemed a little more relaxed, laughing and talking as they stretched together.

On the other side of the field, the Roncalli players looked to be fairly run-of-the-mill for high school soccer. They had a few standouts that Fitz pointed out to her, and Bobbi got the sense that, while not a pushover team, this was going to be Manitowoc’s game to lose.

“Ah shit,” came Hunter’s hushed voice, dragging Bobbi’s attention back to the people around her instead of down on the field. She glanced at him and saw his eyes locked on something over near the stadium’s entry gate. “Ward’s here. And he brought friends.”

“Who?” Clint asked, craning his neck to see what Hunter was looking at.

“Rumlow. Creel. Maybe Kebo, it’s hard to see,” Hunter informed them. “And Raina. Guess she decided to tag along, too.” The blood in Bobbi’s veins turned to ice and her throat went tight. She inclined her head slightly, trying to get a good look without being too obvious that she wanted nothing more than to whirl around and stare. Hunter was right. Christian Ward had just entered the stadium with three other boys in tow, all of whom looked unhappy to be there, plus Raina lingering just behind them.

“He doesn’t look all that mad at the moment,” Mack pointed out, squinting in the direction of Ward and his friends. “Maybe they haven’t checked the laundry yet.”

“I guess he’s just here to submit his name for boyfriend of the year award,” Natasha said coldly. “So sweet of him to come and support Kara in her final regular season game.”

“He wouldn’t have dragged the others here if that’s all he was doing,” Hunter warned. “No, he’s up to something.”

“I think Mack’s right, though,” Clint chimed in. “He’d be ready to pop his own head off if he’d checked the laundry. He might be scheming, but he hasn’t found the laundry.”

“They’ll probably check it at halftime,” said Hunter. “He’s done it before. That’s what we were planning on. Fitz!” Hunter said suddenly, turning to look at the younger boy. “You can run off when your friends get here, mate, and I want you to check in, but keep your distance during halftime. You hear me?”

“What’s going to happen?” Fitz’s eyebrows were scrunched together and his mouth was pulled down. _Confused face_.

“I don’t know, but if Ward’s checking the laundry at halftime like I think he will, then it won’t be much after that that he’ll be looking for us. I don’t want you anywhere near me when that happens.”

“Are you going to be okay? Should I tell someone—”

“No,” Hunter said quickly. “We’ll be fine. No need to get adults involved. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Aunt Linda would kill me if I let something happen to you.”

“Aunt Alva would kill me if I let something happen to you,” Fitz countered. He tried to make his expression just as tough and serious as Hunter’s.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Hunter scoffed. He smiled a little bit, though. “She adores you. Besides, I’m the older one. I’m responsible for you, not the other way around. If I get smeared across the pavement, that’s my own fault.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Bobbi said quietly. “Whatever Ward might do to you, his actions are _his_ fault. Not yours. Someone pulling pranks on you is no excuse for hurting another person.”

“Aw, Bob, I didn’t know you cared so much,” Hunter grinned. He wedged his head onto her shoulder and looked up at her with pretend doe eyes. He batted his lashes a few times in what Bobbi could tell was mock sincerity. “All this time I thought you were indifferent on the prank war.”

“I am,” Bobbi said quickly. Her cheeks felt warm. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I’m on your side, obviously. I’m not neutral, and I get why you’re doing it, but also I think you should be careful. I don’t want you getting… I mean, I just…” She was spluttered, tripping over her words. Hunter’s hair was tickling her neck and she could smell something soapy and leathery, maybe his shampoo. She eased away from him, sliding his head off her shoulder. “Just, like… don’t die out there or something. I don’t want to have to explain to your mom why we had to take you to the ER.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Hunter promised. He held up a hand like he was being sworn into office. “Scout’s honor.”

Mack snorted beside them. “You were never a boy scout.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since we checked in with Bobbi, hasn't it? Actually the next several are Bobbi-centric, so I hope that's okay :) I'm going to do my best to post the next several at a decent/consistent pace, because they all build so much on each other, so hopefully life doesn't get in the way of that haha. I don't want to leave y'all hanging too long with these :)
> 
> As always, thank you so very much for reading. I'm incredibly grateful to you <3


	51. Boiling Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for swearing, bullying, violence/fighting, mentions of abuse

Phil, May, Skye, and Jemma arrived a few minutes before the start of the game, and Fitz was eager to dash off to meet them. Bobbi watched carefully as he met up with the rest of them and promptly darted away with Jemma and Skye in tow. Raina had disappeared, along with Ward and the rest of his friends, but Bobbi wasn’t going to take any chances where Skye was concerned. She knew that Natasha was making it difficult for Raina to get a word in with Skye at tutoring ever since last week’s incident, but something like a soccer game would provide ample opportunity to get Skye alone and fill her head with whatever nonsense it was that Raina seemed determine to share. For now, at least, Bobbi hoped that being glued to Fitz and Jemma’s side would be enough to keep Skye away from the silver tongue of Raina.

The game itself was relatively calm. Roncalli was decent, and the Manitowoc girls had to stay engaged to keep them at bay, but it was clear that there was no one on Roncalli who could quite match Kara or Elena’s talent, speed, or precision. A few times one of their midfielders – a wiry, square-jawed girl who played high-contact defense – would try something fancy, and the play would verge on getting out of hand before someone like Elena or Alisha could wrap them up and shut it down. Bobbi could see the girl getting frustrated every time it happened, her tackles getting harder and her pushes with the ball getting more aggressive. If she wasn’t careful, she was liable to get noticed by the referees before too long.

When the whistle blew for halftime, the score was 1-0 in favor of Manitowoc, thanks to a late goal from Kara Palamas that she’d managed to slice past the (admittedly quite good) Roncalli goalie. Piper had helped lay a trap for that one, crossing the ball to Kara and then cutting away from the ball downfield like she was setting up to get the ball back closer to the goal. It was a nice move, and the Roncalli defense had bitten hard, tailing Piper instead of pressing towards the ball – leaving Kara a clear path to the goal.

“They look good,” Joey remarked, once the players had trooped off the field. “I wish I’d gotten to see more games, but between football practice, homework, and my dad’s work schedule, I didn’t really have the time to get over here.”

“Elena’s been quiet this game,” Mack said. “Solid, but not flashy. You should have seen her against Mishicot. She was on fire that night.”

“She told us all about it the next day,” Joey grinned. “Since her parents can’t come to a lot of games, she always gives the whole family recaps of everything that happened. Her play-by-play is better than the guys you hear on TV.”

“Do you live together?” Bobbi asked, wondering if Elena lived in a similar situation to Hunter.

“Next door neighbors,” Joey clarified. “I know that sounds a little crazy, but that’s just how our family is, I guess. Our grandmother lived with Elena’s family while she was alive, but my dad didn’t want to be far away from her, so he just moved in next door. It made babysitting really easy when me and Elena were kids,” he laughed. 

“I can’t imagine living next door to my cousins,” Clint said with a shake of his head. “We see ours once a year for Thanksgiving, and that’s usually more than enough.”

“Yeah, well, it’s no picnic,” Hunter smirked. “Living with your cousin can be a real drag.”

“You’re so full of it,” chuckled Mack, reaching over to shove Hunter lightly. “You love having Turbo for a little brother.”

“He’s all right.” A playful smile creased the corners of Hunter’s mouth. “Speaking of the little monkey, I probably ought to at least lay eyes on him while it’s halftime. I know I told him to stay away, but my aunt would have my head if I didn’t at least make sure he was still in one piece. Fancy a stroll, Bob?” Hunter stood and stretched, the hem of his shirt riding up slightly the way it so often did whenever he pulled his arms above his head. Bobbi pulled her eyes downward, focusing instead on the trail of ants marching towards a lone piece of stale popcorn wedged near her foot. “I reckon you probably want to check on Skye and Jemma, yeah?”

“Um, yeah,” Bobbi managed to get out. “Yeah, I should check in. Should stretch my knee, too.”

“All right, well let’s walk then,” Hunter prodded. His brow was scrunched up, but his mouth was still smiling. A _teasing_ face, or maybe a _quizzical face_. One wondering why she was acting so weird, why she was stumbling over her words and taking so long to get to her feet. Bobbi wished she had an answer for him. She wished she had an answer for herself, but nothing rose to the surface of her thoughts that could explain her wave of incompetence besides the unnerving sensation that everything was suddenly off-kilter and the world felt like it was tipping dangerously close to being just beyond her control. She took a deep breath, pumping her lungs full of cool, crisp oxygen and forcing herself back to reality. Everything was fine. _Fine. Fine._ Maybe a walk would do her some good.

“Don’t stay away too long,” Mack called, as Hunter led the way down the bleacher steps. “Ward’s going to be on the warpath soon. If you’re not back by the start of the second half, we’re coming to find you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Hunter cheeked. “You worry too much, mate.”

“Or not enough,” grumbled Mack. Hunter was already out of earshot and didn’t hear, but Bobbi gave Mack a pointed look before she followed Hunter down the steps, lurching a little as she navigated around her brace.

“Come on, slow poke,” Hunter teased. He was smiling, though, and he waited at the bottom of the stairs for her to catch up.

“It’s not nice to make fun of people in knee braces,” Bobbi teased back, drawing level with him.

“I’m not exactly a nice person,” Hunter smirked, as they started to walk towards the concession stand. “I’ve been told I have a bit of an attitude problem.”

“I’m shocked.” Bobbi shot a playful smile his way. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one.”

“Somehow I can’t see anyone saying you have an attitude problem, Bob.”

“That’s just because I’ve been on my best behavior lately.” She paused, took a deep breath. Maybe this was her window of opportunity to finally tell Hunter the truth. “You ask around Two Rivers and you’ll get a different story.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Hunter chuckled. “Your secret double life back in your old town. You said before that you were a different person there. Is this your way of telling me that if I dug out an old yearbook I’d see you hanging out with the kids who get busted for spray painting the school, maybe with some dark hair and piercings? ‘Cause I’ve got to tell you, Bob, you look much better blonde.” He was laughing harder now, but the queasy feeling in Bobbi’s stomach was making it hard for her to join in. “Or, no no, let me guess, were you secretly a cheerleader in another life? Or in the marching band?” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Bobbi said weakly. Something in her voice must have caught Hunter’s attention, because he stopped laughing and a new expression slid onto his face – furrowed brow and straight-line mouth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we’d stopped joking around.”

“No, it’s okay, I just…” Bobbi took another deep breath. Her fingers twitched. She wished she had her crutches to squeeze, or, even better, her batons to twirl. Nervously, she raked her gaze across the pavement in front of the concession stand, determined to look anywhere but at Hunter’s warm, worried brown eyes. Two small figures caught her attention. “Is that Fitz and Jemma?”

Hunter spun around and looked where Bobbi was pointing. Something about Fitz and Jemma seemed off – they were standing nearly shoulder to shoulder, and Fitz’s eyes were darting around nervously. Jemma’s hands were twisting in front of her, fingers tapping on themselves at an agitated pace and plucking at the beads on her DNA bracelet.

“Something’s wrong,” Hunter said bluntly. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._ Something was indeed wrong. He started walking towards them, his pace forceful, and Bobbi followed right on his heels.

“Where’s Skye?” she wondered aloud, the fact of Skye’s absence starting to sink in. A stone of dread clunked down in the pit of her stomach as a million possibilities started rifling through her brain, each one worse than the last.

“What’s going on?” Hunter asked, once they’d reached Fitz and Jemma. The two younger kids jumped slightly at the sound of Hunter’s voice before turning and realizing that it was just him and Bobbi who had come upon them. Neither one spoke immediately, and the bad feeling intensified in Bobbi’s stomach.

“Jemma, where’s Skye?” Bobbi asked gently. Jemma’s eyes flitted around momentarily before landing on Bobbi’s face.

“She’s… she had to go…” Jemma stammered. “She said she had to talk to someone, and that she’d be back soon, but we watched and… she went with Raina.”

“Raina?” Hunter’s expression darkened. “Fitz, why would you let her do that?”

“I can’t tell Skye what to do,” Fitz said indignantly.

“When did she go off with Raina? And where did they go?” Bobbi wanted to know.

“Just a few minutes ago,” Jemma said softly. “I think they went back behind the bleachers.”

“So we still have time to find her before Raina can do too much damage,” declared Bobbi, immediately setting off in the direction that Jemma had indicated. She had no idea if the others were following behind her or not, and frankly, it didn’t matter to her one way or another. All that mattered was getting to Skye before Raina could.

She ducked around the corner of the bleachers, following the dirt path that wound along the backside of the large metal and concrete structure. The support beams were big enough back here to obscure people from view, if they had a mind to be hidden, and Bobbi was certain that Raina would have steered Skye somewhere where they could talk without interruption. Still, it didn’t take Bobbi long to spot a flash of floral print flapping in the breeze behind one of the pillars.

“Bobbi, slow down,” Hunter hissed from somewhere behind her. Bobbi paused briefly and turned around to face him. Fitz and Jemma were nowhere to be seen, so Bobbi figured Hunter must have instructed them to stay put.

“I have to go get her,” she said, like she was explaining the obvious. “Raina can’t talk with her. It really freaked Skye out the last time.”

“I know,” Hunter said, in an almost identical tone. “But just think about it for a second, Bob. Skye _went with_ Raina this time. Raina didn’t come to her. Obviously there’s something Skye wants to talk about with her. Maybe you shouldn’t interrupt.”

“What are you saying? We should just let Skye sneak off and let Raina lie and twist everything around for her?”

“You don’t even know what they’re talking about,” Hunter pointed out.

“Exactly. Raina could be saying anything. She could be convincing Skye to run away again, or telling her lies about her parents. We can’t let her manipulate Skye like that.”

“I’m not saying we should sit back and do nothing,” Hunter huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying you don’t want Skye to resent you if you go and break up something that she’s trying to accomplish. There are other options. Subtlety is key.”

“‘Subtlety is key’ is probably the least Hunter-like thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Bobbi said. She took a minute to consider his words, though, and she sighed. “But you’re probably right. So what do we do?”

“A little espionage and eavesdropping never hurts,” Hunter shrugged. “We can hear what Raina’s on about, and we’ll be close enough to step in if things get out of hand.”

In silent agreement, Bobbi and Hunter crept close to the support beam shielding Raina and Skye from view, being sure to stay behind their own columns so as not to be spotted. Once they were close enough, Bobbi could start to hear snippets of the heated conversation taking place a few yards away.

“—you can skip the small talk,” Skye was saying, her tone cross. “How did you know I’d be here tonight?”

“Just a hunch,” Raina said coyly. From where Bobbi was standing, she could see part of Raina’s face with a crane of her neck, but all she could see of Skye was part of the back of her head. “Besides, you came to me. Couldn’t figure out the clue? I didn’t expect—”

“It was a daisy, wasn’t it?” Skye asked. “The flower you drew.” Bobbi scrunched up her brow and shot Hunter a quizzical face. He looked just as befuddled as she felt, and shrugged.

“Oh, very good, Skye,” Raina said. A sly grin seeped across Raina’s face. “I underestimated you. Your father didn’t, of course. He knew you’d figure it out. He can’t wait to meet you.”

“Who says I want to meet him?”

“Isn’t that what this whole search has been about?” Raina looked confused, and for a brief moment, Bobbi watched as the unflappable mask slipped from Raina’s face. “I thought there was nothing more you wanted than to finally be with your family.”

“He’s a bad man, isn’t he?” Skye asked quietly. “He’s the one in those arrest records. I saw what he did.”

“Skye, you’ve got it all wrong,” Raina soothed, the mask firmly back in place. “Your father has done nothing but search for you. He’s trying to put your family back together. Sure, he might have made a few mistakes along the way, but it’s only because he loves you so much. Haven’t you ever done something for another person that turned out to be a mistake?”

Skye was silent, and Bobbi’s skin started to crawl. She could tell that Raina was starting to get to Skye. She made to break their cover and go to Skye’s side, but Hunter’s hand on her arm stopped her short. He put a finger to his lips and shook his head as Bobbi extricated herself from his grasp as quickly as she could without making a scene.

“I never hurt anyone.” Skye’s voice was small. Raina tutted.

“Haven’t you, though? Maybe not in the same way, but you have hurt people. All the fights—”

“Those were self-defense!”

“And all the times you broke the hearts of the people around you. All the people you’ve disappointed and let down. That hurts them, Skye.”

“Stop it.”

“Your father understands, though. He knows that sometimes you have to hurt people to do what’s right in the end, just like you. He loves you. He doesn’t think you’re a disappointment.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know him. You’re lying.”

“Am I? I thought my little clues would have been enough to prove to you that everything I’m telling you is true. You know your name now, thanks to me.”

“That’s not my name. I’m Skye.”

“I bet you haven’t been able to get the name out of your head. You dream of daisies now, don’t you?”

“Just be quiet.”

“Your father dreams of daisies, too, Skye. He dreams of you.”

“You’re crazy.” Skye started to move like she was going to storm off, but Raina caught her wrist and held her tight. Bobbi’s breath snagged in her ribs.

“I’m not the crazy one,” Raina hissed. “What’s crazy is throwing away your one chance to have the only thing you’ve ever wanted.”

“I don’t believe you. Let me go.”

“You do believe me. You just don’t want to. It sounds too good to be true, but I promise you, it’s not. He’s real, Skye, and he’s ready to meet you.”

“I should never have listened to you,” Skye spat, yanking her hand free. “I don’t want to meet him. And I don’t ever want to talk to you again. Leave me alone.”

Bobbi had had enough. Raina looked like she was about to offer a sharp retort, but she froze when she saw Bobbi step out from behind the column and into view.

“She said leave her alone, Raina,” Bobbi said, as menacingly as she could. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Why is it that you always manage to appear at the most inopportune times?” Raina drawled. “You know, the first time was annoying, but now you’re really starting to piss me off.”

“Skye doesn’t want to talk to you anymore,” Bobbi snapped. “And neither do I, so take the hint and move on.”

“Skye’s curious, Bobbi. You can’t fault her for that. I know things about her that she wants to hear. I know things about you too, now.”

“No you don’t,” Bobbi said. She was trying to channel some of Skye’s defiance from earlier, but all that came out was a strangled-sounding yelp of an objection. The blood was starting to drain from her face and a roaring was building up in her ears. As much as she didn’t want to believe it was true, somehow she knew that Raina was telling the truth. _Raina knew._ _She knew everything_.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” Bobbi said quickly, turning and pulling Skye behind her. She gestured for Hunter to follow them. They had to get away before Raina could say anything else, before she ruined everything for Bobbi.

“I think it matters,” Raina said smugly. “I bet your boyfriend here would think it matters, too.”

“We’re not—” Hunter spluttered. “We’re just friends.”

“We need to go,” Bobbi pleaded, trying desperately to leave before everything blew up in her face.

“You’re both so buddy-buddy, but I bet she hasn’t told you about her father,” Raina called. Hunter froze in his tracks, bristling slightly.

“Look flower child, I think it’s high time you shut it. I know about the accident, okay, you’ve got old intel.”

“Accident?” scoffed Raina. “Is that what she told you?”

“Stop. Talking,” Bobbi said through gritted teeth. Her hands were shaking. Everything around her was growing hazy, like a smoky film was closing in around her vision. She needed to twirl, she needed to run, she needed to get Hunter away from Raina. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Her father wasn’t in an accident,” Raina crooned. “He was arrested. He’s got a violent streak, apparently. Tried to assault an orderly in the hospital. Wouldn’t surprise me if your sweet little Barbara’s got a bit of an edge to her, too. Clearly she can’t control her temper.”

“Arrested?”

“Of course, that’s not the only thing she’s been hiding—”

“Please don’t do this—”

“Turns out Mr. Coulson isn’t a kindly uncle, like she wanted you to believe. He’s her foster father. Once daddy dearest got locked up there was nobody who wanted old Bobbi, so it was off to foster care for her.”

“Foster…” Hunter’s jaw was slack and his eyebrows were pulled low and straight over his stormy eyes. Bobbi had no idea what kind of a face that was supposed to be.

“Hunter, I…” Bobbi’s throat was swelling shut and tears stung in the corners of her eyes. “I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you, but—”

“Why would you lie about that?” he asked slowly, turning to look Bobbi full in the face. Now his face was changing, his mouth turned downward, his brow creasing deeply. _Hurt face. Angry face._ “I… I told you everything. I told you about my dad, about getting kicked out of school in England… You met my mum. And you lied to me. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

“Hunter, I’m sorry, I—”

“I need to go,” Hunter said abruptly. He turned without another word and vanished around the bleachers.

“Why would you do that?” Bobbi demanded, wheeling around on Raina. Raina just smiled, a triumphant, self-satisfied smile that Bobbi wanted desperately to wipe right off her face.

“I told you, I don’t like being interrupted. And frankly, I don’t like you. Besides, what is it they always say? The truth will set you free?” With one final, sickeningly sweet grin, Raina slid into the shadows under the bleachers and headed in the opposite direction from Hunter, leaving Skye and Bobbi standing alone, shocked and shaken.

“Bobbi? Are you…?” Skye faltered. She stretched out like she was going to put a hand on Bobbi’s arm, then thought better of it, pulling her fingers back. “I’m really sorry she did that to you.”

“I… she’s…” Bobbi was having trouble getting the words out. Her breaths were coming ragged in her throat, like searing jabs in her chest rather than helpful oxygen. Her hands trembled.

“It’s all my fault,” Skye continued, her chin starting to quiver. “I shouldn’t have gone with her. I shouldn’t have listened to her. She went after you because she’s mad at me.”

“No,” Bobbi shook her head. “It’s not… your fault. Fault.” She was breathing harder than if she’d just run a mile. Her chest rose and fell sharply with shallow breaths that did nothing to quell the buzzing hive of anxiety that was swarming around in her head, her ribs, her arms, her ears. She needed to twirl.

“We should go,” Skye said suddenly. Her eyes were brimming with unease as she watched Bobbi spiral in front of her. Bobbi needed to pull it together. She couldn’t let Skye see her like this. But she couldn’t make it stop.

“Go,” Bobbi echoed. “We’ll go. Go. Go.”

“Bobbi, you’re scaring me a little,” Skye said softly. “Let’s go find May and Phil, okay? I’m sure everything’s going to be okay. Hunter was just surprised. He’s not mad at you.”

“Mad. Mad. Mad,” Bobbi murmured. Sluggishly, she registered that she was repeating Skye’s words back to her. It had been a long time since she’d done that. Usually she was able to keep the repeats in her head. She couldn’t figure out how to get the words back into her brain. She couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t see straight.

Somehow, Skye led her out from behind the bleachers and back towards the open space in front of the concession stand. A few people were milling about, and by the sounds coming from the field and over the PA system, it seemed as though the second half of the soccer game had started.

“Look, there’s Hunter,” Skye pointed out. “And there’s Jemma and Fitz. See, it’s… it’s okay.”

Clearly it was not okay, but Skye’s effort to convince Bobbi otherwise was valiant. Bobbi’s hands were shaking even worse now, and she could barely make out the shapes of Hunter, Jemma and Fitz ahead of them. Just as Skye opened her mouth to call out to their friends, another voice rang out instead – a furious, bellowing voice that made Bobbi’s blood run cold.

“Hunter!” Christian Ward, red in the face, was storming over to where Hunter stood, something fluorescent orange clutched in his white-knuckled fist. Instinctively, Bobbi threw out an arm and stopped Skye in her tracks, keeping her back from the enraged boy who was barreling towards Hunter, Fitz, and Jemma. “You wanna explain what the hell this is?” He brandished the orange thing in Hunter’s face, and through her cloudy vision and foggy brain Bobbi realized that it was a football jersey. A traffic cone orange football jersey.

“I see the laundry came back,” Hunter said coolly. “I hate it when the machines malfunction like that.”

“Malfunc– Are you serious right now? These are for the whiteout game against Reedsville next weekend. Does this look white to you?”

“Well, seeing as I’m not colorblind and I passed grammar school, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that looks more orange than white.”

“You’re such a piece of garbage, you know that? You and your whole damn team. Do you know how much it’s going to cost to get these replaced?”

“Probably about as much as it’s costing us to fix the nets you trashed,” Hunter clipped.

Christian Ward’s shouting had drawn the attention of his buddies, who had been loafing nearby. The one Bobbi recognized as Carl Creel from their history class looked livid, and the others, who she assumed must be Rumlow and Kebo, looked just as angry.

“You’re a weaselly little punk, Hunter,” growled Creel.

“Euro trash,” glowered one of the others. Hunter stiffened as they drew in close, circling him like a pack of dogs. He gave Fitz and Jemma a little push and sent them over towards where Bobbi was still standing with Skye, her arm still holding Skye back.

“I forgot Mary Poppins the nanny doesn’t like it when his babies get too close to his messes,” sneered Ward, his eyes following Fitz and Jemma hungrily. Bobbi’s breaths were still coming sharp and fast in her ribs, but she knew she had to keep Jemma, Skye, and Fitz safe from whatever was about to happen.

“Go… go get,” she managed to gasp out. She waved her shaking hand in a shooing motion, trying to urge them away.

“We’re getting help,” Skye nodded, grabbing Fitz and Jemma’s hands. The three took off towards the bleachers, and Bobbi felt her arms go limp with temporary relief.

“Help,” she whispered to their retreating backs. “Help.”

“You don’t have anything on me,” Hunter called towards Ward and the others. “There’s nothing to say there wasn’t a freak accident at the laundromat. Maybe your towel boy accidentally threw in one of his spare crossing guard vests.”

“We know it was you.”

“But even if it wasn’t, I’d been waiting for a chance to knock some respect into that smug cockney head of yours,” Ward snarled.

“Respect is earned, love, and frankly, you aren’t worth mine,” Hunter shot back. “I’d roll over in my grave before I groveled to you.”

“That can be arranged.” Ward cracked his knuckles menacingly, and Bobbi felt like her heart had stopped. The sound of popping knuckle echoed in her ears, ringing in her brain. The pop that came before the crack across her face, the click that came before his hands were on his belt or the iron or a drinking glass, whatever it was that he wanted to chuck at her.

“Four on one, yeah that’s real respectable,” Hunter said scornfully. “You lot are a bunch of cowards.” _Coward._

_“Don’t be such a coward!”_ her father was shouting, a glass baking dish exploding into a million pieces at his feet. _“Stand up straight and don’t be so emotional! Stop crying, goddammit. And look at me when I’m talking to you!”_ She heard his voice. She heard the glass shattering. She felt the stinging pricks as the shards sprayed around her bare ankles, the rough feeling of his hands as he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back against the stove. The searing of hot metal against her skin.

“Make it stop,” she whimpered. “Make it stop.” She couldn’t feel her legs anymore, could barely see three feet in front of her. Her shaking hands squeezed into fists, fingernails digging into the palms of her hands.

“Apologize now and we’ll take it easy on you.” Ward’s voice sliced through her feverish thoughts and yanked her brusquely back to reality. She was swaying slightly on unsteady legs. Her palms stung where she had pressed too hard. She still couldn’t breathe. “We won’t make you look like a total loser in front of your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Hunter said sharply. “She’s not even a friend.”

“Aw, did she realize she was way too good to be hanging around a sorry sack like you?” Ward laughed cruelly. Bobbi watched as something dangerous flashed in Hunter’s eyes for an instant before he lunged suddenly, his fist swinging in a perfect arc around until it connected squarely on Ward’s jaw. Ward’s head snapped back, and he stumbled for a step or two until his friends caught and righted him.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Before she could fully process what was happening, Ward and the others were on top of Hunter, fists flailing wildly. Someone was screaming for them to stop, and it took a second for Bobbi to realize that it was her. She was near the pile of bodies, then, desperately clawing at one of the boys to pull him off of Hunter, and then suddenly there were others there, too: Clint and Mack and Natasha and even Joey, all pulling and tugging, forcing the older boys away from Hunter, who was a heap at the bottom.

Ward was shouting, cursing, shoving Clint and launching a punch toward his head. Clint twisted away so the punch missed his face, but it caught him on the ear instead, sending one of his hearing aids clattering to the ground. Natasha and Joey were each standing nose to nose with Rumlow and Kebo, yelling and pushing to keep them away from the others, while Mack yanked Carl Creel off the pile and tossed him to the side like a sack of flour, then helped Hunter stand up.

Creel scrambled to his feet, desperate to get back at Hunter and Mack, and before she knew what she was doing, Bobbi stepped in front of him. Impeding Creel gave Hunter time to steady himself and wipe the blood that was streaming from a cut over his eyebrow off of his face, but it also forced Creel to careen into Bobbi, sending them both sprawling. She twisted as she fell, making sure not to land on her bad knee. Somewhere above her, the sound of fist against face rang out, and one of Ward’s friends, Rumlow, maybe, went lurching backwards from Natasha, clutching at his nose.

The pavement underneath her was hard and unforgiving, and Bobbi’s hip throbbed where she’d landed on it. Around her, there was shouting, shouting, shouting. So much anger. So much fighting. She knew she needed to get back up and help her friends, but her muscles had stopped working. She couldn’t stand, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except roll over and tuck her body in on itself and wait for the worst to pass. Her hands scrabbled at her ears, trying to block out the sounds of rage and pain that were echoing around her and the words of her father that were echoing in her mind.

“Hey. Hey! Break it up!” A man’s voice rang out, forcing everyone to freeze momentarily. “What’s going on here?” Bobbi peered through her fingers to see Phil striding toward them, looking more serious than she’d ever seen him. Right on his heels was May, fire in her eyes, along with Skye, Jemma, and Fitz, all looking pale and shaken. Phil planted himself firmly in middle of the chaos and placed a restraining hand on Hunter’s shoulder. He held his other hand up in Ward’s face, a stern warning not to make another move. “This stops right now. You hear me?”

“This isn’t what it looks like, Mr. Coulson,” Ward panted, straightening his shirt, which had a tear in the collar, and massaging the blossoming bruise on his jaw. He wasn’t the only one who was a sorry sight. Clint was kneeling on the ground, cradling his crushed hearing aid, while Rumlow was nursing a bloody nose and Hunter a black eye, the cut on his forehead, and a fat lip. Creel was picking himself up off the ground gingerly, and Natasha was sporting swollen knuckles. Bobbi herself began the painful process of getting to her feet without agitating her knee too badly, but it was complicated by the fact that her hands were still shaking violently. It wasn’t until May crossed quickly to her side and gave her an arm to lean on that Bobbi was able to actually stand up.

“Oh no?” Phil raised his eyebrows in surprise, but the disapproval didn’t leave his eyes as he took in the scene before him. “Because to me it looks like ten of my students are having a full-scale brawl in the middle of a soccer game. Explain to me what I’m missing here.” His voice was chilly, no trace of his usual jovial tenor. Part of Bobbi appreciated the seriousness, because it forced everyone to stop fighting, but another part of her shivered at the stern way his words attacked her ears. Her muscles tensed, and Bobbi was sure May had felt her flinch, although she couldn’t muster the will to make herself care about that at the moment.

“Hunter attacked me, Mr. Coulson,” Ward began.

“Oh, that’s a load of—”

“He and his friends vandalized—”

“—Only after you cut our nets—”

“—Punched me out of nowhere—”

“—Four against one—”

“All right,” Phil held up his hands for silence. “That’s enough. I’m not interested in an argument. You all know the rules against fighting on school grounds. I’m going to have to report this to Principal Mace.”

“But—”

“For now,” Phil said pointedly, cutting off any protest. “My advice would be to avoid doing anything else that I’m going to have to report. Go your separate ways. Cool off. Stay away from each other. I’m not interested in breaking up another fight, got it?”

“Yes sir,” Ward griped, shooting daggers towards Hunter as he turned on his heel. He jerked his chin to signal that Creel, Rumlow, and Kebo should follow him, and after a minute or two, all four had drifted away towards the gate.

“You guys,” Phil said sadly, once Ward and his cronies had gone, “what was that all about?”

“It was nothing,” Hunter muttered darkly. He lifted the hem of his shirt to mop the blood from his face, but he refused to look anyone in the eye.

“We’ve got it under control, Mr. Coulson,” Clint said, a little louder than his usual speaking voice. “Just a disagreement that got out of hand.”

“I’d have to disagree with you there,” grimaced Phil. Bobbi noticed that Natasha was signing behind Phil, bringing her pointer finger from her temple down to the pointer finger on her other hand, then pulling the two fingers apart. Clint watched carefully, then shook his head and signed back, making a fist and flicking his thumb out from under his chin, then tapping his chin with his pointer finger and gesturing towards Phil.

“Are you all okay, at least?” Phil looked from person to person, taking stock of their condition. “You’re bleeding,” he said to Hunter.

“It’s fine.”

“Look, I can’t help you guys unless I know what’s going on here. Principal Mace is going to come down hard on you all for fighting—”

“It was Christian Ward, Mr. C,” Mack protested. “He jumped Hunter over a stupid prank, and he and his buddies were going to kick the snot of Hunter if Fitz hadn’t come to tell us what was going on. We were just trying to protect him.”

“Ward’s going to have a different story,” Natasha muttered, still signing as she spoke, for Clint’s benefit. Her hands were fast and fluid, and Bobbi was starting to lose the thread of the movements. Her head was aching, and trying to keep up with Natasha’s signing was making it worse. “But it’s the truth, Mr. Coulson. The football team and the soccer team have been pranking each other back and forth this year, and Ward just snapped tonight.”

“Hunter? Did he attack you?”

“I hit him first,” Hunter said shortly.

“Hunter—” Bobbi tried to say something, what exactly, she wasn’t sure. That she was sorry. That the fight wasn’t his fault. That he didn’t need to try and take the blame for everything that was happening right now. All of her words got stuck in her throat and died before she could speak them. It was still so hard to breathe.

“Just don’t,” Hunter said, his curt tone marred slightly by an edge of pleading. “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it.” And with that, he stalked off, never once looking back at any of them. Fitz, who had been lingering at the edge of the group, cast an apologetic look over to Skye and Jemma before trailing after Hunter and out of the stadium altogether.

“What’s his problem?” Natasha wanted to know.

Bobbi opened her mouth to explain, but all that came out was a shuddery breath. She couldn’t make her stupid hands stay still, and every inhale felt like a knife to the chest. “Problem. Problem.” No, no, no, stupid brain, stupid words. She didn’t want to repeat what Natasha had said, she wanted to tell her what had happened between her and Hunter. Unfortunately, those were the words that were stuck in her head, and the echo words that should have been locked in her mind were the ones that were spilling out. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make her body cooperate, but it was no use. She was sure they were all staring at her like she had just grown a second head, the way she was acting.

“Raina told Hunter some stuff… about Bobbi,” Skye said slowly.

“Raina? When were you talking to Raina?”

“What did she say? Hunter knows better than to listen to her.”

Her friends were all talking too fast, and Bobbi’s hands twitched at her sides. She wished desperately for her batons.

“She found out, didn’t she? And now Hunter knows what I know?” That voice was Natasha’s, low and cautious. Somehow it broke through the rest of the cacophony and reached Bobbi’s consciousness. Bobbi forced herself to nod.

“Knows what? What’s going on?” Mack asked. “I’m lost here.”

“It doesn’t really seem like this is the best time to talk about it,” Natasha said quietly. “We’ll explain it all later, okay?”

“Okay.” Mack’s voice took on a gentler tone as he realized just how upset Bobbi still was. “Yeah, there’s no rush. Are you okay, Bobbi?”

Bobbi couldn’t make herself speak, so she just stood there numbly until she was able to jerk out a robotic nod. Mack didn’t look all that convinced, but he was kind enough not to push for a more truthful answer.

“Look,” Phil finally said, after an uncomfortable silence. “I clearly don’t understand everything that’s going on here, and you all aren’t giving me much in the way of an explanation. I have to report this to Mr. Mace, but I’d like to have the story straight before I give him the details.”

“I don’t know what Christian Ward is going to tell you,” Mack sighed eventually, “but if you want our side of things, then the truth is—”

A gasp rose up from the stands, where the rest of the crowd was still sitting, watching the game, followed by an anguished cry and a sharp whistle from the referee. Mack stopped short and swiveled his head around to glance over at the field.

“Someone’s down,” he said, worry punctuating every syllable. His eyes were wide with concern. “I can’t see who.”

“Whoever it is, it looks like she’s one of ours,” Natasha frowned. “Red jersey.” She signed something quickly to Clint, who was trying along with everyone else to get a good look at the field.

“Injury timeout,” crackled a voice over the PA system. “A red card to Fuller for Roncalli.” That was the name of the aggressive midfielder who had been going toe to toe all night with—

“Elena,” Joey said suddenly, his expression stricken. “That girl Fuller was playing too hard on her all game. Something’s wrong.” _Hurt. Hurt. She was hurt._ Bobbi’s breath quickened again. She had been afraid of this.

“Are her parents here?” Phil asked.

Joey shook his head. “Just me.”

“Maybe we should—”

“I’m going to go see—” Joey started off toward the field, catching up to Mack, who was already halfway there himself.

“Is she going to be all right?” came the small voice of Jemma. She was practically clinging to May’s side, hanging off her arm like a koala.

“I don’t know, honey,” May said softly. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“She’s sitting up,” Skye informed them, squinting over at the field. “It looks like she’s grabbing at her ankle, though.”

“At least it’s not a head injury,” breathed Jemma.

“Small miracles,” agreed Phil. His brow was knit and the lines around his mouth were pulled taught. “Someone should call her parents. She’ll need to see a doctor. I don’t think I have…” Phil started rummaging around in his pockets, presumably for his cell phone. May put a gentle, albeit restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Phil, honey, I’m sure the coach has it all under control. Besides, I think we need to go.” She cast a pointed gaze over at Bobbi, whose hands had started shaking again. She didn’t feel like her lungs were full of glass anymore, and she wasn’t having trouble separating her memories from the real world in front of her anymore either, but Bobbi was having trouble keeping her composure. While the adrenaline was ebbing away from her body, the stress of the evening wasn’t, and she felt tired and tense and anxious to get away from the noise and the crowds.

“Right. Of course.” Phil gave himself a little shake and reaffixed his attention on her. “Does that sound okay, Bobbi? Are you ready to go home?”

Bobbi swallowed hard and nodded, blinking back tears of relief. _Home. Home._ It was quiet and calm at home. Her batons were at home. No one was going to hurt her at home.

“We’ll make sure everyone gets taken care of here, Mr. Coulson,” Natasha said. “We can give Mack a ride home, and Joey and the coach will take care of Elena. Bobbi, we’ll… we’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks Natasha,” smiled Phil. His eyes were heavy and a little sad looking.

“You… can tell,” Bobbi told Natasha, wrestling the words out of her throat. Her voice sounded hoarse and choppy in her ears, but thankfully no one commented on the quality of her speech. Bobbi winced slightly at the stuttering way her words wrenched out into the world. She took as deep a breath as she could muster, trying to smooth out the sound. “You can tell Clint and Mack.”

“Okay.” Natasha nodded seriously. “Okay. I’ll take care of it. And Bobbi? I know it sounds empty right now, but… it’s going be all right. Everything’s going to work out. All of us, we’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Bobbi echoed, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a lot happened. Sorry about that. I didn't call the chapter Boiling Point for nothing, I guess? Anyway, hopefully this one turned out okay. Next chapter is a lot calmer, I promise!
> 
> Massive thanks to you all for continuing to read :)


	52. Cool Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of abuse/ableism, swearing

Bobbi honestly couldn’t say how exactly they all managed to get in the car and go home. Everything was fuzzy and undefined – too slow and too fast all at the same time – and she had no real recollection of the drive home or the journey from the car to the living room, where they all now sat in stiff silence.

“Is your knee okay?” May asked finally. “You didn’t hurt it in the fight, did you?”

Bobbi shook her head. “No. I know how to take a fall so you don’t get hurt. And I wasn’t really even in the fight.” Her voice sounded flat to her ears, stilted and robotic in the way that always made her dad angry. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw momentarily to force the shouts of _talk like a normal person, dammit_ to stop rattling around in her head.

“Do you think you could tell us what exactly happened with the fight? Why were you all fighting in the first place?” That was Phil. She still had her eyes closed, so she couldn’t see his face, but his voice sounded tired and sad and serious. It was the kind of voice that had worry lines and greying hair and dark circles under its eyes.

The muscles in her hands jumped, and she clenched her fists to keep them still. She wanted to go to her room. She wanted to lock the door against the world. She wanted to pull her batons out from under her pillow and just twirl and twirl until nothing else felt real anymore besides the rough wood spinning in her hands.

“Bobbi? Are you all right? What’s wrong?” It was back to May now. Bobbi tried to swallow down the bitter taste that was rising in her mouth, but the feelings that she’d choked down at the soccer game were bubbling back. Shaky limbs. Sharp chest. Cotton stuffing filling up the space where her brain should be.

“She was like this earlier tonight, too,” said Skye quietly. Bobbi’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Skye, seeing her but not seeing anything at the same time. The younger girl looked embarrassed at having to admit to witnessing Bobbi’s earlier episode, but there was something more powerful than embarrassment lurking in her eyes too: fear. “Right after Hunter got mad and walked off. I didn’t know how to help…” Skye trailed off. She shot Bobbi an apologetic grimace, like she wasn’t sure if she should have told, but Bobbi barely registered it.

“We should get her batons,” came Jemma’s soft suggestion. Something in Bobbi’s shoulders unlatched and she felt herself sag somewhat. Her batons would make everything feel just a little bit better.

“Her what?” May and Phil both looked confused, but Jemma was already halfway up the stairs.

“Batons,” Skye explained, after it was clear that Bobbi wasn’t going to, or couldn’t, say anything. “For thinking. And maybe talking, too, I don’t really know how they work.”

Jemma reappeared then, batons in hand. She held them out tentatively, and Bobbi took them with trembling gratitude. She squeezed the wood tightly, letting the solidness of them tether her to the world. She ran her fingers over the grooves in the wood, one thumb finding the rough patch she had missed with the sandpaper all those years ago in shop class. The scratchiness against her skin reminded her that her senses were still working, that she could still feel something that wasn’t fear or numbness. She gave them one twirl, then two, then another and another, until she was spinning them quickly, pumping them round and round to a steady beat. Her thundering heart began to slow until, eventually, it settled into the same rhythm as the batons. She felt some of the film lift off of her eyes.

“What are those?” Phil asked with gentle curiosity.

“Batons,” Bobbi said slowly. Talking felt like waiting for molasses to drip out of her mouth, but at least the words didn’t snare in her throat anymore. The robot sound was softening, too, she could tell. “Made them a few years ago. They… help. When things get out of control.”

“Did that happen tonight?” wondered May. Bobbi nodded. She blushed somewhat, and stared down at her feet.

“Hunter got mad when he found out I had been lying to him. I didn’t want him to find out that way. I didn’t want to upset him. And then Ward came over, and he was mad about the jerseys. They started fighting before I could wrap my head around what was happening, and… I couldn’t make it stop.”

“The fighting?”

“I guess. That, and the shouting. I kept hearing him shouting.”

“Who, Christian?” Phil seemed a little lost, but his face was soft and open. He wanted to understand her.

“No,” Bobbi shook her head. “I mean, yes, Ward was shouting, and so were other people, I think. I don’t really remember. But I couldn’t really hear them. I just kept hearing…” She faltered. She had never told anyone that she heard her father’s voice ringing in her head even when he wasn’t around. That was the kind of thing that made people think you were crazy. Her breath snagged in her chest, coming out in a wavery shudder, and the corners of her eyes felt hot.

“You don’t have to tell us,” May said quietly. “It’s okay.”

Bobbi shut her eyes tightly and inhaled sharply through her nose. No. She had to pull it together. She had to show them that she was strong enough to keep around. She had to prove that they didn’t need to worry about her. She had already scared Skye once tonight, she didn’t want to make anyone else fuss over her.

“It’s fine,” she said brusquely, opening her eyes and forcing herself to look right at May and Phil, even though it made her neck feel tight. _Look me in the eye, act normal for Chrissake._ Even now, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. “It’s nothing.” Even now, she was still lying for her father.

“Are you sure?” May’s eyes narrowed, and Bobbi squirmed slightly. She had to look away from the _suspicious face_. The old familiar gnawing that came to the pit of her stomach anytime she had to obfuscate the truth had returned. Bobbi hated that feeling. She hated the pressure of hiding things, she hated how horrible everything turned when the truth came out the wrong way, like it had tonight. She remembered how good it had felt to tell Detective Hartley the truth, to tell Natasha, to tell Phil. She took a deep breath.

“I lied. I’m sorry. It… it’s not nothing. It’s just hard to talk about.”

“That’s okay,” May reassured her. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But,” she continued, “if you’d like to try, we’re happy to listen.”

Bobbi took another breath, squeezed her batons. This was the right thing to do.

“I hear him,” she said. Her voice was low and skittish, but she knew she had to keep talking. “My dad. I hear his voice. Not all the time, but sometimes. When I’m nervous, or when things get stressful. I hear him shouting at me like he used to. I can see him sometimes, too. Not like he’s standing in front of me, but more like, I remember. And the memories feel real, like they’re still happening. And I… I get scared, even though if I think about it, I know they’re not real. I know it’s stupid, but that’s what happened tonight.”

“It’s not stupid,” May murmured. Softly. Sadly. “Just because it’s not happening right in front of you doesn’t make it not real. The memories are real. The feelings are real. There’s nothing stupid about that.”

“You can’t help remembering,” Jemma added. “Memory encoding can happen involuntarily, and certain stressful stimuli can trigger the hippocampus into memory retrieval, whether it’s intentional or not.” She paused, and her cheeks pinked slightly. “I remember bad things, too, sometimes.”

“I wish I could have helped you more,” lamented Skye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You helped,” Bobbi said quickly. “Just being there helped. You don’t need to apologize. I should apologize for freaking you out. I shouldn’t have let it get that bad in front of you.”

“Does it get bad like that a lot?” Skye asked. Bobbi hesitated for a minute, then shrugged.

“I don’t know. It depends, I guess. Usually I can just wait it out and keep it locked down enough that people don’t really notice.”

“You know, Bobbi,” Phil began tentatively, “there are people who can help with things like that. People whose job it is to help you process some of the really horrible things you’ve gone through and help you come up with ways to feel more in control. You don’t have to hear his voice all the time. You deserve to live a life without ever hearing him again, if that’s what you want.”

“You mean like a shrink?” Bobbi frowned. She thought they had understood, but maybe they did think she was crazy. Her father had thought there was something wrong with her, and now Phil and May did, too. “I’m not crazy. I don’t need some doctor looking at my head like that.”

“I know you’re not,” Phil promised. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought, if you were interested, you could talk to somebody about the things that make you feel stressed or frightened or out of control. That person could help you work through those feelings and give you some strategies for tackling them. It’s not about examining you or judging you. It’s about helping you.”

“I don’t need help,” Bobbi said abruptly, reflexively. It was the same old line she’d told to countless teachers, coaches, concerned parents. _Everything was fine. I tripped while I was out running. Dad was just busy. They didn’t need help, thank you though._

“Everybody needs help sometimes,” Phil pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for it. That’s how you let people know what you need, instead of forcing them to guess what might be best for you.”

“We’re not designed to do everything all by ourselves all the time,” May said. “I know it’s not an easy thing to remember, trust me. But I’ve tried going it alone, and I can promise you that so many things are so much better when you have another person to lean on.”

“I just don’t think I need that kind of help,” Bobbi said stoutly. “It’s not really that big of a deal. I can take care of it. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“We just don’t want to see you hurting, Bobbi,” said Phil. “You go to the doctor to help heal the pain in your knee. If you wanted, you could work with someone to help heal the pain in your heart.”

“It’s not the same.”

Phil and May both looked like they were trying to come up with something to respond with, but neither one seemed to land on anything to say. Bobbi was about to stand up and retreat to her room when Skye spoke up suddenly and said something that surprised them all:

“I’ll go if you go.”

“What?” Bobbi felt her eyebrows inch together as she tried to understand what Skye was saying.

“I’ll go see one of those doctors if you go, too. May and Phil have been trying to get me to go, and then the school said I should see one to get help with my tests and stuff. I don’t really want to, but I’ll go if you go.”

“Why would you do that?”

Skye shrugged, toed at the ground. “I’d never seen you get like how you were tonight. I know you don’t scare easily, but I guess thinking about your dad is different. I don’t want you to have to be scared anymore.”

“Oh,” Bobbi said, a little stunned. “I… thanks, Skye. That’s a really nice thing for you to do.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal,” May corrected gently. She smiled. “You’ve both just talked about doing something very brave. Phil and I are incredibly proud of you.” Phil nodded emphatically beside her. Naturally, he too wore a broad smile.

“I think we all just took a big step forward tonight,” he grinned.

“A step in the right direction?” Jemma piped.

Phil nodded again. “Definitely a step in the right direction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends :) It's been like a bajillion years, I'm so sorry. Work's been busy (December is a busy time at all three of my jobs, I've now learned...) and life's been hectic and the editing on ch. 54 wasn't going right, which got me stuck for posting this one, etc. etc. I won't bore you with the details or more excuses ;) Still, I wish I hadn't let it go so long since the last chapter. Thanks for being patient and sticking around. It's my goal not to let the time get away from me quite so badly moving forward! Also, next chapter's a Jemma chapter, so hopefully that's something to look forward to! 
> 
> Anyway, I'm just really glad to be here and I'm really glad that you're here and I'm really thankful that I get to share this with y'all. Working on this and getting to know you guys makes me really happy, so thank you for that, too :)


	53. Pitter-Patter Promises

It wasn’t often that people made promises to Jemma. In most cases, it seemed that she simply wasn’t important enough to other people for the effort of a promise to be worth their while, and that was something that had stopped bothering her a long time ago. While she craved assurances and the confidence that was supposed to come with words you could count on, she had long since learned that an empty promise, an unfulfilled promise, a false promise was far worse than no promise at all.

Skye had once explained to her that grownups lie all the time, after she had found Jemma wedged in the back of a closet, crying her eyes out because Mrs. Finney, her social worker at the time, had refused to let Jemma keep the broken hairbrush she’d been hiding under her mattress, despite an earlier promise to the contrary. The hairbrush had been her mother’s, and even though one of the other girls at St. Agnes had snapped it in two ages ago, Jemma wasn’t ready to throw it out. She didn’t know how to tell Mrs. Finney that, though, so the stern, thin-lipped woman had ordered her to toss it out, ‘along with any other useless trash you’ve been hoarding,’ even though just last week she had _promised_ that Jemma’s belongings would be safe.

“They just say ‘promise’ because it gets you to stop bugging them,” the nine-year-old Skye had explained patiently, crouched down on the closet floor beside a weepy, trembling Jemma. “You can’t believe anything they tell you. You just have to expect that the stuff you don’t want to happen is probably the thing that’s gonna happen.”

“But why?” Jemma had sniffed. “That’s dishonest. People aren’t meant to tell lies, it’s not kind.”

Skye had snorted at that, and reminded Jemma that the number of kind people in the world was smaller than they wanted it to be. She hadn’t been cruel about it, and she hadn’t made fun of Jemma for not understanding the way things worked. She just helped Jemma learn what to expect, and how to be more protective of her trust. Skye was much better at it than Jemma was. She still hadn’t quite mastered the art of letting go of the flickering hope that the word “promise” conjured up in her, but Jemma Simmons was nothing if not a quick study. It was one of the most important lessons Skye had ever taught her, and it was one of the moments that had solidified Skye as one of the only people Jemma knew she could count on.

That was why Jemma was feeling so confused as she lay in bed that night, her mind rifling through all of the events of the past few days, trying to make sense of it all. She was used to grownups’ promises falling through – words like “safe” and “happy” and “forever” were always a source of skepticism now, thanks to her careful training, and even though she still couldn’t fully shake the little glimmering doubts that her sparks of hope cast onto that skepticism, she knew better than to let her hope carry her good sense away most of the time. Skye had taught her what to expect when it came to adults’ promises, how to guard herself against their broken words. She had never taught Jemma how to deal with a broken promise when it came straight from her, though.

Jemma knew she couldn’t always take everything Skye said seriously, of course. Skye didn’t choose her words as carefully as Jemma did – sometimes Skye said things without thinking, or she said things that she didn’t really mean. For the most part, Jemma had learned to tell the difference, but this time, it seemed as though she had been wrong.

She thought Skye had meant it when she said she was going to tell Jemma the truth about the things she uncovered in her search for her parents, and about the things that bothered her and made her act in rash and foolish ways. After everything that had happened with Skye’s search for her parents and her disastrous trip to the hospital in Sheboygan, Jemma had thought that Skye wasn’t going to keep her in the dark anymore, but after watching Skye sneak off with Raina, someone who Skye should have had no business talking to in the first place, Jemma knew that Skye hadn’t kept her word. Skye was hiding things from her again, even though she said she wouldn’t, and Jemma didn’t know how what to do about it. 

She lay flat on her back, staring up at the stars that shone from her lamp and glowed onto the ceiling, thinking and thinking about how on earth she would ever convince Skye to come clean. _1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4._ Her finger had found a suitable spot to tap out a thinking beat on her shoulder, and the steady rhythm kept time with the faint pattering of rain that was starting to drizzle on the roof overhead. Rain made Skye grumbly and disagreeable, probably because she didn’t like to be cooped up, but Jemma had always liked it. Rain meant inside recess and time to curl up with a new book. Rain meant clean air and damp earth and blooming plants. Rain meant interesting insects crawling up from their hiding places as they sought refuge from the floods and earthworms wriggling on the pavement. Rain meant giggling into steaming mugs of tea with her mother as they tipped over the biscuit tin, emptying it out to find the best ones, or playing chess with her father once he had come home from work. Rain smelled like second chances and new life, and it felt like a promise of all the things Jemma knew no one else could promise her anymore.

Jemma could feel her heart beating inside of her chest, a tempo that seemed to fit right in with the rain outside her window and the steady _tap-tap-tapping_ on her shoulder. She felt bolder than she usually did. If the rain could keep its promises, then maybe she could convince Skye to keep hers, too.

“Skye?”

“Mm?” Skye’s voice was thick with sleep, but Jemma knew if she didn’t ask now, she would never have the nerve again.

“What does Raina know?”

There was a long, stiff silence, and Jemma wondered momentarily if Skye had fallen asleep, or if she was pretending to be asleep to avoid answering the question.

“What do you mean?” came the eventual, tentative reply.

“I know she’s been talking to you, and I know whatever it is she’s saying has been bothering you. I think you think she knows something, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to see her tonight. So, what is it? What does she know? And why is it such a big secret?”

“It’s n—”

“Please don’t say it’s nothing,” Jemma whispered, pleading. “Please don’t lie. You promised last time that you would tell me. You _promised_ , Skye.”

There was another long pause. 72 taps long, each one plunging deep into Jemma’s heart and twisting like a knife trying to convince her that promises didn’t mean anything anymore, not even from Skye. Then, suddenly, the soft sound of a sniffle interrupted Jemma’s thoughts and her taps and made everything freeze for a moment before it all clicked into place.

“Skye?”

No response, just another sniff and a shuddery breath. Soundlessly, Jemma slid out from under the covers of her own bed and picked her way across the floor to Skye. She saw the lump that was Skye huddled under the blankets, turned away so that she was probably staring at nothing but the blank wall next to her bed.

“Skye,” Jemma said again, softly, tenderly. Her heart ached, and she felt the corners of her mouth twist in sympathetic dismay. She hadn’t meant to upset her.

The lump shifted slightly, and for a split second, Jemma thought Skye was moving to get farther away from her. She quickly realized, though, that Skye was just making room in the bed, and some of the guilt ebbed away from her chest as she climbed in next to Skye.

Skye melted into her as soon as she was settled, and Jemma tapped softly on Skye’s arm, somewhere near her elbow. _1-2-3. 1-2-3. I-am-here. I-am-here._

“She knows my father,” Skye said hesitantly after a while (39 taps). There was something fragile in her voice, like she had been holding her breath for a long time before she said it.

“What?”

“Or at least, she says she does. I didn’t believe her at first, but then the clues, and the files… it just started adding up. But I don’t want it to. I want her to be wrong, because it all doesn’t seem right. It’s not how it was supposed to be.”

“I don’t understand…”

“And the worst part of it is, she’s gone and made things so twisted up that now, I don’t even think I want to meet him. I’ve been searching my whole life for my parents and now that I finally have a chance to find him… I feel sick just thinking about it. She ruined everything. Or _I_ did, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Skye, slow down—”

“And she’s right, you know. I’m not a good person. I hurt people just like he does.”

“What are you talking about? Skye, you’re a good person. You’re the best person I know.”

“You don’t have to say that just to try and make me feel better.” There was something sharp that had worked its way into Skye’s voice. It was a sound Jemma didn’t like to hear. A bad sound.

“I’m not.” Jemma propped herself up on one elbow so she could into Skye’s shadowy face. She was trying hard not to feel indignant at the accusation. “You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Skye murmured, chastened. She shifted slightly, rolling away a little bit and tucking her chin into herself as she curled towards the wall again. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Jemma assured her, after a beat. She didn’t close the space between them, but her tapping fingers found their way to Skye’s wrist under the blanket. “It’s all right. Really. And I do think you’re the best person I know. Or one of them, at least.”

“You’re the best person I know, too,” said Skye softly. “I’m sorry I was keeping secrets again. I know I told you I wasn’t going to do that. I didn’t mean to lie to you, it just sort of happened.”

“You could tell me now,” Jemma suggested. “Then it wouldn’t be a lie anymore.”

Skye laughed humorlessly, a short, scoffing bark of a sound. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Tell me about your father,” prompted Jemma. “How does Raina know him?”

“I don’t actually know,” Skye said. She flipped herself over to her other side, fully facing Jemma now, and Jemma was relieved to see that Skye didn’t look as angry or hurt as Jemma had feared she might. “She’s never said. At first I thought she was lying. Just making stuff up to mess with me, you know? We were talking about names that day she tutored me, because of _Stargirl_ , and she said she knew my real name. Like, my _real_ real name, not my St. Agnes name. I didn’t believe her, which is why I didn’t tell you then. I figured there was no point in telling you something that wasn’t true. But she drew this flower on my hand and said something about a guy named Cal, and then later on, when we were looking at those files with May, one of them—”

“The police report,” Jemma said, nodding slowly. “The one that upset you. That man was named Cal.”

“And it might not have mattered, except his kid on the birth certificate was named Daisy, which is—”

“A flower,” Jemma finished. “So you think that might be him? And that Raina was right?”

“I didn’t know what to think. I was… it was just really confusing, and, I don’t know… I probably should have told you then, but I just… I guess I still wasn’t sure, or maybe I wanted to try and fix it on my own. I wish I knew why I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay.” Jemma smiled to let Skye know she really meant it. Her heart swelled when Skye returned the smile for a moment.

“I didn’t see everything in the files about that guy, but I saw enough to know he went to jail for hurting someone. I don’t think he’s a good man.”

“So when you saw Raina tonight…?”

“I had to talk to her. I had to see what else she knew. I had to know if she was right about everything.”

“And what did she say?”

“Not much,” Skye frowned. “She said he wasn’t really as bad as the police made it seem. She said he wants to meet me.”

“He… what? Skye, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jemma’s pulse quickened, and she pulled her hand away from Skye, switching to tapping on her own cheek. _Fast tempo. A nervous one._ _1-2-1-2-1-2._

“I know that,” Skye said, a little sharply. She took a deep breath and her tone softened almost immediately. “Sorry. I meant, I think you’re right. If he’s really the guy from May’s files, the one who went to jail for attacking those people, then he’s probably not someone I should go running off with. I’m not that stupid.”

“Of course you’re not,” Jemma soothed. Jemma didn’t think Skye was stupid at all, not in the least. She did, however, think that Skye could be reckless sometimes, especially when it came to her own wellbeing. While Skye’s street smarts might have been enough to convince her not to go meet a man convicted of assault with a deadly weapon unsupervised, Jemma suspected that Skye’s longing heart might need some more persuasion.

“I just can’t believe he’s out there,” Skye said, after a long pause. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been looking all this time, and it turns out he’s been looking for me, too. He wants to find me. He wants _me_. At least, if Raina’s telling the truth.”

“That’s a big if.”

“Maybe,” Skye mused. “I don’t know, something… something about it all…” Skye stifled a yawn and Jemma caught her wrinkling up her nose to stave off another.

“We should go to sleep,” Jemma said gently, sliding her tapping finger back over towards Skye and lighting it upon the back of her hand. _1-2-3-4_. Keeping time with the steady patter of rain. “I’m glad you told me about Raina. And your father, too. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Please.”

“I will,” nodded Skye as she snuggled up closer to Jemma. Their bodies together generated more than enough heat to keep the late October chill at bay, although it wasn’t quite enough to rid Jemma’s spine of the shiver that was running down its length. All she could do was hope that this wasn’t another promise that couldn’t be kept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends :) I don't have a lot to say about this chapter, except that I was glad Skye and Jemma got a chance to talk and I hope you like it! Fun fact, it was raining when I wrote this and it's raining now as I post... coincidence? Yeah, probably, but who doesn't love a little happenstance?
> 
> Also, whether your holidays have already passed or they are yet to come, I hope they were happy ones :) December can be a fickle month, and 2020 has been... well, you know... but hopefully there was/is something to celebrate, even if it's small. <3 As always, my immense gratitude to you all! Thanks for making my December brighter :)


	54. Face the Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for swearing, ableism, mentions of violence/injury/fighting and also Hunter being really bullheaded :/

Bobbi woke up before her alarm the next morning, her stomach churning with nerves and guilt. She wasn’t sure what part of her day she was dreading the most. The meeting with the school principal, which would surely end in all of them being punished, ranked near the top of her list, for sure. The inevitable confrontations with Ward and Raina would be uncomfortable at best and dangerous at worst. And of course there was the horrible fact that she would have to face her friends for the first time since the truth came out. She had no idea how Mack and Clint would react, if they would react more like Natasha had, or Hunter. Something tightened in her chest at the thought of Hunter, like an invisible hand was squeezing over her heart. The sight of his stricken face flashed in her mind’s eye, and another wave of guilt crashed around her. He was never going to forgive her.

Of all the ways Bobbi had imagined Hunter finding out the truth, last night’s debacle had never crossed her mind. She had never considered the possibility that the truth would be ripped so forcefully from her hands and put on display for someone else without her permission. She had worried about people finding out before she was ready to tell them, of course, but nearly every scenario she had envisioned had involved a slipup of her own creation; a slow and subtle leaking of the truth, like air from a punctured tire, until suddenly everything was just out in the open and nothing was bottled up anymore. She should have known the tire was more likely to blow than to leak. That was how everything else in her life had been, so why would this have been any different?

Everyone seemed tense at breakfast, like they could tell Bobbi was nervous and they didn’t want to upset her further. Or maybe they were all still freaked out by everything she had told them last night. _No_ , Bobbi corrected herself. That was insecurity talking. Everyone here was nice and no one started treating her any different after her many admissions. Jemma knew to get her batons, Skye agreed to go to therapy with her. There was no pity or disgust in May’s eyes or fretfulness or anger in Phil’s. She was _safe_ here.

“So, you’ll probably be called down to the office after homeroom,” Phil explained as he rinsed out the cereal bowls in the sink and shooed Skye and Jemma off to gather up their backpacks and sneakers. “Principal Mace may want to meet with all of you together, or he might meet everybody separately, I’m not sure. But I’ll be there. Technically I’m there as the reporting teacher and a neutral party, but off the record, I’m there to be a friendly face,” he smiled. “It shouldn’t be too bad, but if you need to take a break, you can send me a little signal and I’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Okay,” Bobbi agreed. She felt her face arrange itself into a much more stoic expression than she really felt. It was like her body was on autopilot to lock down all the feelings that were bubbling up inside of her, but that was okay with her. She’d been too emotional recently, anyways. It was time to tamp those things down, shutter away the things that threatened her façade of control. Control meant she could convince other people that things were fine. Control was how she’d gotten through so many years of nosy teachers and prying eyes. Control was how she stayed safe.

Fortunately, it appeared as though Phil could tell she wasn’t interested in talking any further about what the morning held, and he didn’t press the matter as they finished getting ready for school and piled into the car.

* * *

She didn’t run into Hunter, Clint, or Natasha before homeroom, but that didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was the broad smile on Mack’s face when she slid onto the stool next to him in homeroom.

“Hey,” he greeted her warmly. There was no trace of anything she had been expecting to see on his face. _Disappointment, betrayal, frustration_ – all were absent.

“Um, hi,” she said weakly.

“You look like you’re feeling better than last night,” Mack observed. Bobbi shrugged, but found herself nodding somewhat, too. She was still a bundle of nerves, but she would have been hard-pressed to feel as bad as she had last night.

“Did…” Bobbi swallowed hard, choking down the anxiety that was clogging up her throat. She tried again. “Did Natasha tell you—”

“Yeah,” Mack nodded. “I mean, she didn’t go into a lot of details, but Clint and I got the gist. I’m really sorry all that crap happened to you. I’m glad you’re staying with someone as nice as Mr. C, though.”

“Me too,” Bobbi murmured. “Are you… are you mad that I lied? Because I’m really sorry about that.”

“It’s all good,” Mack assured her. “I’m not mad, and neither is Clint. Honestly, I can understand why you would want to keep some of that stuff private, especially with people you just met. And I’m glad you feel like you can trust us with it now.” _Trust. Trust._

“Is Hunter still mad at me?”

Mack hesitated before saying anything. His expression clouded over a little, and Bobbi felt her heartrate pick up speed.

“I tried to talk to him last night, but he wouldn’t answer my texts or pick up when I called him. So if I had to guess, I’d say yeah, he’s probably still pissed. But I don’t think it’s just about you, if that helps at all. All the Ward stuff—”

“That was my fault, too,” Bobbi admitted, shame bubbling up in her chest. “So he’s probably doubly mad about that.”

“Look, I know I wasn’t there for the start of the fight, so I don’t know what sparked it, but I can tell you for a fact that Ward and Hunter going at each other was definitely not your fault. They’ve been at each other’s throats since freshman year.”

Bobbi didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily was spared from having to respond by the crackling arrival of the announcements over the intercom. After the Pledge of Allegiance, the day’s lunch menu, and a reminder about signups for the debate team, the disembodied voice finished with the words that Bobbi had been dreading.

“Finally, will Lance Hunter, Christian Ward, Barbara Morse—” the voice droned, calling out the names of everyone who had been involved in last night’s incident. “—Carl Creel, and Alphonso Mackenzie all please report to the office immediately following homeroom. Thank you; and have a great Outlaw day.”

Bobbi and Mack rose in unison and, after receiving a nod from Mrs. Diaz to be dismissed, headed out of the classroom and down the long walk to the office.

“I meant to ask,” Bobbi said, remembering suddenly, “what happened with Elena? Is she okay?”

Mack’s mouth turned down and his eyebrows scrunched together to make a very _unhappy face_.

“The trainer was already with her by the time me and Joey got to her,” he said solemnly. “The trainer wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong, but she knew it was bad. She told us to get Elena to a doctor right away, so Joey said he’d take her, since he’d come in his dad’s car. Coach called her parents to clear it with them, and I guess they left work early to meet Joey at the ER. I didn’t go with them, but Joey texted me updates.”

Something cold and clammy clenched in the pit of Bobbi’s stomach. If Mack had to get his updates from Joey and not Elena directly, that wasn’t a good sign.

“She got tackled the wrong way by that Fuller girl on Roncalli, you know, and… and she broke her ankle. Then when she went down, she fell the wrong way, and tore her Achilles’, too.”

“Oh, god.”

“I guess she’d injured her Achilles’ a while ago – strained it, maybe – but she kept playing through it, so it was already susceptible to tears. And when Fuller took her down hard—”

Bobbi winced, imagining the excruciating pain Elena must have felt. “Was it a full rupture, or…?”

“Just a partial tear, I think,” Mack said. “So that’s good news at least. She’s getting surgery on it today. Joey said she’s probably going to be on crutches and rehabbing and all that for four to six months, though.”

“Are you serious?” Bobbi knew an Achilles’ injury wasn’t a speedy recovery, but she hadn’t been expecting six months. “Poor Elena. That’s playoffs and the whole offseason. It’s got to be killing her.”

“I don’t really know if she knows it yet,” Mack said sadly. “She’s been awake of course, but between the pain and the medicine and everything, I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. She’s going to be crushed, though.”

“She’s strong,” Bobbi said, trying to inject as much force and optimism into her tone as she could. “And she has the whole offseason to get back to where she needs to be. I bet she can be back on the field by next season if she wants to be.”

“Wasn’t it you who told me that kind of optimism was wishful thinking?” Mack needled, a sad smile on his face. Bobbi had never seen him so morose before. Something about Mack, who was usually such a rock of positivity, slipping down into the doldrums like that sparked a flicker of defiance somewhere in Bobbi’s chest.

“Only if there’s not anything to actually be optimistic about,” she reminded him. “Elena getting better isn’t a pipe dream, Mack. She can do it. I know she can.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m up and walking around, aren’t I?” Bobbi stopped and gave Mack a pointed look that froze him in his tracks. “Mack, my dad basically shattered my kneecap with a baseball bat two months ago. I was worried I’d never walk again, but I don’t even need crutches anymore. Besides, Elena’s way tougher than me. If I can get better, so can she.”

“You’re both pretty tough, if you ask me,” Mack smiled. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t give up on her before she’s even gotten out of surgery. If she wants to play again, we’ve got to be there to cheer her on.”

They had arrived outside of the front office, and Mack gestured grandly for Bobbi to go in first.

“After you,” he said. “Let’s go see how much trouble we’re all in.”

* * *

The office was about what Bobbi had expected to see – prune-ish secretary behind the front desk, filing cabinets along the walls, and a haphazard collection of chairs, several of which were occupied by the sullen faces of Natasha, Clint, and Ward’s three friends, who were huddled together in one corner. Bobbi noticed with a slight bubble of pride that Rumlow’s nose was purple and swollen, a souvenir from its run-in with Natasha’s fist last night.

Mack nodded at Clint and Natasha as he and Bobbi sat down next to them.

“What’s happening?” he asked quietly.

“Hunter and Ward are inside with Mace,” Clint informed him. A pinkish welt that hadn’t been there last night, at least as far as Bobbi could remember, marred his cheek, and Bobbi spied something chunky and purple behind his ear. It looked as though he hadn’t been able to fix his hearing aid last night, and Bobbi wondered if the purple one he was sporting now was an old one he had in reserve. It certainly wasn’t as sleek or as nice-looking as his previous one had been, although it did at least seem to be working well enough that Natasha didn’t need to interpret for him.

“Mr. Coulson’s in there, too,” added Natasha. “Plus Coach Garrett. I guess he got wind of what happened and he demanded to be there to ‘advocate’ for Ward.”

“I’m all for advocates,” Mack grumbled, “but I’m guessing Christian Ward is pretty good at advocating for himself.”

“The whole thing is just an excuse for him to make sure his star player doesn’t have to sit out this week’s game,” said Natasha drily. “It has nothing to do with taking care of any student’s wellbeing.”

“And of course Hunter doesn’t get to have _his_ coach in there holding his hand,” Clint griped. “At least Mr. C’s in there to try and keep things fair.”

“Did you see Hunter?” Bobbi asked gingerly. “Before he went in or anything?”

“Just for a minute.” Natasha’s mouth was a tight, straight line, and her eyes were downcast. _Apologetic face_. “We tried to talk to him, but he didn’t say anything to us.”

Bobbi’s heart sank. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected that, but there had been a part of her that had dared to hope that Hunter might have come around after a good night’s sleep. That hope had been frivolous, it seemed. 

“Try not to worry about it too much,” Natasha said gently. “It’s not your fault, Bobbi.” _Fault. Fault._

Bobbi gave an empty chuckle at that. As much as Natasha and Mack kept saying that, it didn’t change the fact that Hunter was upset because of her lies, and Ward had used her to goad him into the fight.

“For real,” Clint nodded. “No one blames you for not wanting to spill your guts to us on your first day here. Hunter just gets bent out of shape when people don’t match up with the expectations he has of them in his head, and he’s got way too much pride to let anything go. He refused to talk to me for like three days when he found out I’d been letting him win at FIFA out of pity for his poor video game skills.”

“Don’t tell me your inability to miss a shot also extends to virtual sports too…” Bobbi smirked, in spite of herself and the situation.

“Perfect aim is my game, and I always win,” Clint grinned. To illustrate his point, Clint swiped a paperclip off of the secretary’s desk while she had her back turned, pinched it between his thumb and forefinger with his left hand, and flicked it with his right, launching it straight at Carl Creel’s head. The paperclip smacked him right in between the eyes, which immediately narrowed into a glare.

Mack snorted, trying hard not to laugh, and Natasha chomped down hard on her lip to hide her amusement.

“You’re such a showoff,” she told Clint, swatting lightly at his arm. “Don’t antagonize them.”

“We’re literally sitting in the office for fighting, what could he possibly do to me now?” Clint countered with a cheeky grin. They were all tittering now, trying to stifle their laughter so as not to raise the ire of the secretary, who was watching them dubiously. It felt good to share a moment of levity with her friends, even if the moment was fleeting. 

The sound of the principal’s door opening sobered them quickly, and the furrowed face of a middle-aged white man with curly brown hair poked out from behind the door.

“Mrs. Clayton, are all the – oh, yes, I see they’re all… okay then, well… It’s going to be a little cramped, I suppose, but if you’ll all join us in my office, please.”

They all rose in near unison and filed uncomfortably into the office behind the man, who Bobbi assumed was Mr. Mace, the principal.

He had been right about the office being cramped once they were all inside. The cluster of chairs in front of Mr. Mace’s desk were already filled by Phil, Hunter, and Christian Ward, and a stocky man with thinning hair and a look of unadulterated irritation on his face hulked in the corner of the room. Something about the unnerving blend of disaffected disdain and loosely contained anger in his eyes made Bobbi’s mind immediately flash to her father, and she felt her breath catch momentarily somewhere near her clavicle. Natasha, who was beside her, must have heard the sharp intake of breath, because she turned her head slowly – casually, so as not to draw the attention of the others – to lay eyes on Bobbi. Natasha’s eyebrows twitched up so subtly Bobbi probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching her expression intently, and asked a silent question. _Are you okay?_

Bobbi swallowed hard and nodded. She was fine. They were all crammed into a tight, crowded office, and she wished people would stop bumping into her accidentally, but there was nothing really wrong. The man skulking in the corner, Coach Garrett most likely, gave her an uneasy feeling, but there was no way he could do anything bad in here. Besides, she had never actually met this man before, so there was technically no reason for her to fear or distrust him.

“Come on, squeeze in, squeeze in,” Mr. Mace cajoled, ushering everyone in. “I’m sorry the accommodations are lacking. The conference room is being used by the Band Parents’ Association to house all of the uniforms that still need cleaning before Friday’s game, so it’s a mess of suspenders and hat plumes in there.” Bobbi shuffled around towards one side of Mr. Mace’s desk to make room for Ward’s friends, who were still trying to fit into the office. From here, she could easily see not only the look on Coach Garrett’s face, but on Phil’s, Hunter’s, and Ward’s as well. She scanned her eyes from Phil, who gave her a reassuring smile, to Christian, who she was pleased to see was sporting a bruise across his jaw that was the most delicate shade of lilac she’d ever seen in a bruise. Then she got a look at Hunter, and the sight forced her to suck in a breath.

Hunter was glaring at Mr. Mace’s desktop, stoutly refusing to acknowledge anyone who had just walked into the room. The cut over his eye had scabbed over, but it was swollen and angry looking, still pink around the edges. His eye itself was surrounded by a bruise that was such a dark shade of blue it looked almost grey in the fluorescent lighting of the office. His lip was still fat and sported a scab of its own, and Bobbi could see evidence of scrapes and cuts along the backs of his knuckles, which were gripping tightly at the arms of his chair. Seeing Hunter sitting there, body and ego bruised, there was no question about who had come out of the fight worse off.

“Okay,” Mr. Mace said, once he had inched past everyone and taken his seat behind the desk. “Okay. Well. Now that we’re all here.”

“At long last,” growled Coach Garrett from his corner. Bobbi wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure he was being _sarcastic_.

“Mr. Coulson reported last night’s altercation to me this morning. He listed you all as involved parties, but seeing as how Mr. Coulson only arrived for the end of the incident, we’re all a little shaky on the details. Mr. Ward has his own account, but Mr. Hunter has been less than forthcoming, so I’d like to hear from the rest of you what exactly transpired last night,” Mr. Mace explained.

“Which is a waste of time,” Coach Garrett grumbled. “You’ve got the story from Ward. The scrawny one didn’t deny it, case closed. No need to punish anyone except the one who started the fight.”

“You can’t seriously look at Mr. Hunter’s condition and think that he’s the only one who warrants disciplinary action, John,” Phil said seriously. The sternness that had surprised Bobbi last night was back, but at least this time it was directed at Coach Garrett instead of at the rest of them. She noticed the tips of Hunter’s ears growing pink and the muscles in his shoulders tensed as Phil drew attention to the fact that Hunter had taken a beating. Still, though, he didn’t remove his gaze from Mr. Mace’s desk, nor did he act as though he knew anyone else was there.

“All I see when I look at him is somebody who tried to pick a fight and lost,” Coach Garrett snapped back. “I don’t see why Ward should be punished for defending himself.”

“Hunter was the one who was defending himself,” Bobbi said hotly, before she had fully processed what she was doing. She felt her face grow hot as Coach Garrett turned his scornful eyes on her, but she forced herself to keep going. She had to try and fix some of the things she had broken last night. “Christian and his friends were ganging up on him, and it was about to be four on one. Hunter didn’t have a choice.”

“He still took the first swing, though, didn’t he?” Coach Garrett sneered. When Bobbi tried to splutter a retort, the coach just chuckled unkindly at her. “Don’t plan on a career as a lawyer, girly. You just got your client locked up.”

Bobbi could practically feel Natasha seething beside her, and she watched as Natasha’s hand closed into a white-knuckled fist. Clint, who was on Natasha’s other side, nonchalantly slid his own hand down and wrapped it around hers, lowering her fist back down to her side and coaxing her fingers to unclench.

“Like I already told you, Mr. Mace,” Christian Ward said sanctimoniously, “we went to go confront Hunter about the recent vandalism done to our team uniforms—”

“Another thing to add to the rap sheet,” interjected Coach Garrett.

“There’s no evidence to suggest that Mr. Hunter had anything to do with the laundry mix-up,” Phil said quickly.

“—And when we asked him about it, he just flew off the handle and started attacking us,” Ward finished. “We had to defend ourselves from him. He was unhinged.” _Unhinged. Unhinged. He hadn’t been the only one..._

“That’s such a lie,” Mack scoffed.

“Enlighten us with the truth, then, Mr. Mackenzie,” Mr. Mace urged. Bobbi could tell by his tone that he was losing his patience.

“Well I…” Mack faltered. “I wasn’t there, exactly, but I know—”

“They’re all just going to try and cover for him,” Coach Garrett said flippantly, with a wave of his hand. “You can’t believe a word from any of them.”

“John, we’re _educators_ ,” Phil said, his voice steely. “We have a responsibility to listen to our students. We owe them a chance to speak and give us their side of the story.”

“What sides?” Coach Garrett asked angrily. “There’s no 'sides' to the facts. Facts which tell us that this one,” he jerked a thumb in Hunter’s direction, “attacked my players unprovoked.”

“He _was_ provoked,” Bobbi insisted. She stared at the back of Hunter’s head. Why wasn’t he defending himself? Why wasn’t he saying anything? “I was right there. Christian goaded him and threatened him. Hunter was trying to protect—” the words lodged in her throat momentarily. “Us. He was trying to protect us and Skye and Jemma and Fitz from all of them.” She turned her gaze on Creel and Rumlow and Kebo, who were bunched together in the back, smirking every time Coach Garrett spoke up on Ward’s behalf.

Mr. Mace held up a hand. “I’m sorry, wait, who are those other three? Skye and—? Are they students?”

“Middle school students who were with Mr. Hunter and Miss Morse at the time,” Phil clarified.

“Miss, uh, Morse, is it? Could you expand on the kinds of threats Mr. Ward made? Because that changes things somewhat.”

Bobbi felt her face flush. Everyone was staring at her now, except for Hunter, who remained stock still and stared only at the desk. She took a deep breath. “Ward was angry about the jerseys, and he kept saying he was going to make Hunter pay, going to hurt him. He said ‘that can be arranged’ when Hunter talked about… being in a grave.”

“How would you even know?” Ward hissed venomously, glaring red hot pokers at her. “You were too busy having a freaky little mental breakdown to know what was going on. I heard you muttering those words over and over to yourself.” Bobbi’s mouth went dry.

“Shut up,” Natasha spat. “Just shut up about things you don’t know anything about, you asinine dirtbag of a—”

“That is _enough_ ,” Mr. Mace said firmly. _Enough. Enough. Enough._ He looked around from face to face, studying them each in turn, like he was waiting for anyone to dispute what had been said. No one spoke a word. “I think I’ve heard all I need to hear, between Mr. Coulson’s report and what you all have shared in the office here. Mr. Hunter, you’ll be facing a three-day suspension for starting a fight on school grounds. Mr. Ward, you will also face a three-day suspension for partaking in that fight, and for threatening another student with violence. The rest of you will serve a week of after-school detention for your participation in the fight. I’ll be calling all of your parents. Or guardians,” he bumbled, after a minute, once he had realized Bobbi was included in that group. “I’m also launching an investigation into these reported pranks between the two teams. Good natured rivalry is one thing, but vandalism and threats of violence are another entirely. This back and forth between all of you officially stops now, am I clear?”

He waited for everyone to nod in agreement. “Good. Check in with Vice Principal Burrows before you go back to class to get your detention slips, please, and Mr. Hunter and Mr. Ward, you may go collect your things and wait here for your parents to escort you home.” He sat back in his chair with an air of finality, and slowly everyone realized that there was nothing left to do but leave the cramped office.

“You’ve gone soft, Phil,” Bobbi heard Coach Garrett leer in hushed tones to Phil as they filed out. “I played for your dad. I know he raised you to be tougher than this pansy act you’re putting on. He’d be awfully disappointed in you, don’t you think?”

“There’s only one person here who my father would be disappointed in right now, John,” Phil said sharply. “And I’m confident enough in my father’s legacy to say that it’s not me.”

Coach Garrett didn’t seem to have a response to that, and instead he stalked away, Ward and his friends trailing behind him.

“Phil, I’m…” Bobbi croaked, searching his face for signs of sadness or anger. All she could see was stiffness and stony eyes. She didn’t know what kind of a face that was supposed to be. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Phil asked, genuine curiosity softening his features. His shoulders relaxed somewhat and the air around him suddenly felt warmer.

“For… for what Coach Garrett said. He shouldn’t have talked about your dad like that. And I’m sorry for getting detention and getting into a fight. I know you don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that, Bobbi,” he reassured her. “I mean, getting in fights and getting detention isn’t great, of course, but I know the fight wasn’t your fault. And detention isn’t the end of the world. You’ll just go while Skye is at tutoring instead of hanging out in my classroom. It’s not going to keep you from going to college or anything like that.” He paused and gave her a broad smile, one that filled her muscles with calm. “And for what it’s worth, it would take a lot more than a couple cutting words from John Garrett to ruin my memories of my father for me. He might have played under my father for a few years, but I lived with the guy for four times that length, so there’s no question about who knew him better.”

Bobbi had to smile a little at that. Something about Phil’s soft confidence and his steady presence just made it so easy to believe that things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

“You better go get your detention slip,” Phil said then. “I’ll see you in history, okay?”

“Okay,” Bobbi nodded, before turning and heading to catch up with her friends, who were on their way to see the vice principal.

Mack spotted her coming their way, and he signaled to Clint and Natasha to wait while she closed the distance between them.

“Everything good with Mr. C?” he asked.

“Everything’s good,” Bobbi told him.

“Everything good with you?” Clint followed up. “Ward said some pretty shitty things to you back there.” A lump gathered in Bobbi’s throat at the memory of Ward in the office and his callous observation of the very thing she worked so hard to mask. She opened her mouth to speak, but realized she didn’t have the faintest idea of what to say. She couldn’t pretend like Ward had been wrong – she had been a headcase last night, and she had been saying things out loud that she should have kept inside of her brain.

“I’m going to kill him,” Natasha growled. It took Bobbi a second to realize that Natasha was speaking Russian, and that she had understood it. It was probably for the best that Natasha’s threat hadn’t been made in English – the last thing any of them needed was a teacher overhearing her and suspending Natasha for wanting to kill Ward. Bobbi wondered briefly if that was precisely why Natasha had opted to utter the threat in Russian. “No good piece of…” The last phrase was something Bobbi didn’t recognize.

“Prudovaya sliz’?” she asked, trying to match the sounds of the words that Natasha had just mumbled. “I don’t think we’ve gotten to that one yet.”

Mack and Clint gaped at her.

“I didn’t know you knew Russian, too,” Clint said, impressed.

Mack overlapped with “You sounded just like her.”

“It’s…” Natasha, back to English, pursed her lips, thinking of the translation. “Like that scaly green stuff that grows on top of water. Lakes and aquariums and stuff.”

“Like pond scum?” Clint suggested. “Assuming we’re still talking about Ward, of course. Because Ward definitely gives me pond scum vibes. Slimy, unappealing, bad for the environment… I could go on.”

“I’m still stuck on the fact that Bobbi knows Russian,” Mack said, shaking his head.

“Just a little,” shrugged Bobbi. “Natasha’s been teaching me.”

“She’s a fast learner,” Natasha glowed. “She picked up the intonations and stuff really quickly. It’s like she can echo me.” Bobbi felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t deny it. That was one benefit of constantly fighting the urge to repeat people’s words back at them – it came naturally to intone other languages back like an auditory mirror, so long as she was paying attention.

“Do you echo things a lot?” Mack asked curiously. “I mean, I know last night was a different thing, but with that and learning other languages and stuff…”

“I don’t mean to,” Bobbi blushed. “It just slips out sometimes.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” smiled Mack. “It definitely doesn’t bother me. It’s kind of cool, honestly. You’re like a mockingbird or something. Just, you know, with people sounds instead of bird sounds.” Bobbi smiled in spite of herself. She kind of liked the sound of that.

“Ward doesn’t know what he’s talking about, as usual,” Clint added. “He’s an idiot. Don’t let him get under your skin.” _Easier said than done_ , Bobbi thought, but she kept that notion to herself. Still, as much as Ward’s words were stirring up anxious knots in her stomach, the shining faces of her three friends – friends who were still standing beside her, who were still smiling and joking around with her after everything she had done – were stronger than anything Ward could ever say.

* * *

They emerged from the vice principal’s office with detention slips in hand a few minutes later, and before they could go their separate ways, Bobbi spied Hunter slouching down the hall, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his posture hunched and hostile. She hesitated for a moment, not sure if she should say anything or not, and she caught Natasha looking from her to Hunter and back again. Her expression was dark and tight – a _serious face._

“Hey, Hunter!”

Hunter froze and instinctively looked around for the voice who had called to him. When he realized just exactly who was speaking, though, he scowled and turned away, continuing his trek back to the office without acknowledging them.

“Come on,” Natasha muttered, jerking her chin towards Hunter. “We can catch him. Hey, Hunter,” she said again, once they had closed the distance between them. “We want to talk to you.”

“The feeling’s not mutual,” he snipped, glaring at the ground rather than looking anyone in the face. “Bugger off, all right? I’ve got to go wait for my mum so I can enjoy suspension.”

“We just want to check on you, man,” Mack said softly. “Last night was…”

“Don’t talk to me about last night,” Hunter snapped. “I had things under control before… before…”

“Before you got jumped four to one?” Natasha asked icily. “Or before Bobbi sent the _kids_ to go get help? Or before you got your face smeared into the pavement by a guy who’s a head taller than you?”

“Before you lot all stuck your noses in everything!” Hunter erupted. “Before she came and…” His face was red and his movements were jerky and agitated. “Things were fine until you came around, you know?” he said suddenly, finally looking Bobbi in the face. As soon as he did, Bobbi immediately wished he would go back to ignoring her. His eyebrows were pulled down into an angry diagonal, and his mouth was twisted in disdain. Worst of all were his eyes, which were heavy and aching with hurt. Hurt that Bobbi had caused. She felt sick.

“Hunter, I’m—”

“Just save it,” Hunter said flatly. “Save it for somebody who cares. You didn’t want to waste the truth on me, so don’t feel obligated to waste your sorrys on me either.”

“What is your problem?” Natasha demanded. “So what if she wasn’t ready to tell the world every detail of her life? She doesn’t owe you that.”

“No, obviously not, seeing as how we clearly weren’t as close as I thought. Silly me for thinking that friends told each other the truth. Instead I had to find out from bloody _Raina_ of all people that you’re in foster care and that your dad’s in jail for attacking people at a hospital.”

“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Clint shook his head. “There are so many levels of _wrong_ to pick through.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Hunter asked with narrowed eyes. “You all know something I don’t? You’re here to tell me that Raina made the whole thing up and Bobbi _hasn’t_ been lying to us for two months?”

“No,” Bobbi murmured. “That part’s true. I should have told you. I tried to tell you, but… it just never came out right. But not everything Raina said was true, either.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you about that now, am I?”

“I’m asking you to,” Bobbi said quietly. “I’m trying to tell you the truth, Hunter. The whole truth.”

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. He shook his head like he was trying to clear cobwebs from his brain and backed away slowly from them all. “I can’t be around someone who’s going to lie to me, or people who are going to take her side.”

“You’re not even going to give Bobbi a chance to explain herself?” Natasha challenged, overlapping Mack, who insisted that “this isn’t about sides.”

“I know what I need to know,” Hunter said, his tone curt.

“So you’re choosing Raina over Bobbi, then, is what I’m hearing,” Natasha shot back. “You’re choosing to listen to someone who we all know is as untrustworthy as they come, instead of someone you called a friend. You want to talk about picking sides, well congratulations, Hunter, you just planted your flag with the wrong one.”

“I have to go,” Hunter turned away from them all then, and the sight of his tensed back sent a searing shot through Bobbi’s heart. “My mum’s here to pick me up. Suspension awaits. Enjoy detention, I’m sure you’ll all appreciate the quality time together this week.” And with that, he stormed away, out the front door of the school, never once looking back.

“He’s being an ass,” Natasha scowled.

“His feelings are hurt,” Mack offered gingerly.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not still being an ass.”

“I know,” Mack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not disagreeing with you. I’m just trying to work through the why.”

“I don’t think he’s ever going to talk to me again.” Bobbi was trying hard to keep the fractured sound out of her voice, even though she could feel it climbing up from her ribs into her throat. “I can’t believe I messed things up so badly.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Clint urged. “This isn’t your fault.” _Fault. Fault. They all kept saying that, but it just wasn’t true._

“It’s Raina’s, for opening her big mouth, and Hunter’s for believing her over you,” Natasha nodded.

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t be an issue if I would have just told him. Told all of you.” Bobbi felt the muscles in her hands tense, aching for something to twirl. “And even now he still doesn’t actually know the full truth. Raina found out about my dad’s arrest, but she got the details wrong. He was arrested for more than just what he did in the hospital. I don’t think she knows what he did to me. Plus, he’s not even in jail right now. My social worker told me weeks ago that he made bail, so I guess he’s at home or something.”

“Well, look, if you want to try and break through that thick skull of Hunter’s to tell him the truth, go right ahead,” Mack said. “But you’re not obligated to try and bring him around. He’s responsible for his actions and his choices, even if they’re crummy ones at the moment.”

“Thanks.” Bobbi crooked the corner of her mouth upward in a gesture of gratitude. She may have messed things up for good with Hunter, but at least she hadn’t lost everyone she had come to care about. The way that Natasha, Mack, and Clint had come to her defense more than proved that.

“We should go,” Natasha said, after a moment. “The last thing we need is to get another detention for standing around in the hallway when we should be in class.”

She was right, of course, and they all said their goodbyes then, going their separate ways until the toll of the lunch bell could reunite them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one to write, friends. Conflict stresses me out so badly in real life, and navigating the arguments in this one was an... engaging... new challenge for me ;) Next chapter is much happier and softer, I promise (and we're also back to Skye next time... it's been a while since we've seen her!).
> 
> Also, apologies for my probably horrendous phonetic Russian spelling... I claim some of the responsibility for that, but Google translate bears the rest :)
> 
> Y'all are wonderful and I can't thank you enough for being here <3 Happy new year! Here's to the hope of 2021 clearing the (very very) low bar that has been set for improvement!


	55. Eggshells and Ex-Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for brief mentions of abuse, bullying (including anti-Asian bullying/racism)
> 
> Also be warned there are some terrible egg puns ahead...

Much to Skye’s surprise, both Fitz and Trip were waiting at the melted picnic table when she and Jemma arrived for school the morning after the soccer game smackdown. They made an odd pair – Fitz looking sullen and Trip looking like he was bursting with news. As soon as she and Jemma were in earshot, everyone started asking questions, overlapping one another and creating a cacophony of inquiry.

“Did you guys hear what happened to Ward’s brother last night?”

“Is Bobbi okay?”

“Is Hunter okay?”

“Is Hunter still mad?”

They all paused, realizing that they weren’t going to get anywhere carrying on like that. Trip grinned.

“I guess we’ve all got a lot to talk about.”

“What are you doing over here?” Skye wanted to know. She cast her gaze around to see if Ward was watching them. “You were supposed to go dark until it was time to put phase two of the plan in motion.”

“It’s all good,” Trip smiled. “Technically I’m here on Ward’s orders. He was really mad this morning, and he told us about how Fitz’s cousin wrecked their football jerseys and then went ballistic. Apparently Ward’s brother and Fitz’s cousin and bunch of other people got in this huge fight and now they’re all going to see their principal today.”

“We know,” Skye nodded. “We were there. And that’s not exactly what happened.”

“You were there?”

Skye nodded again and explained the more accurate version of events that Ward had oh-so-helpfully altered in his telling. Trip let out a low whistle.

“Wow, that’s intense. I’m glad you all are okay. Rough about your foster sister and your cousin, Fitz.”

“It wasn’t a great night for anyone,” Fitz grumbled.

“So what exactly are these orders that Ward sent you here with?” Skye asked.

“Well, Ward’s brother is fuming, so of course he’s got it in Ward’s head that he has to carry on the torch if he gets suspended or something. Which means that Ward’s going on the warpath here. He wants me to tell you all to watch your step.”

“What an original threat,” muttered Fitz sarcastically.

“Nobody said Ward was a creative genius,” Trip scoffed. “Most of his big ideas revolve around beating people up until they do what he wants. He learned from the best.”

“That’s awful,” Jemma said quietly. Skye gave her a sympathetic smile and slipped her hand into Jemma’s for a quick squeeze. 

“Maybe so, but if that’s what’s coming for us, we need to be ready,” she said stoutly.

“Yeah,” agreed Trip. “He’s looking for any excuse to go off on you guys, so if you want my advice, I’d stay as far away from him as possible until things cool down.”

“Unless we use this as our chance to get him to snap in front of the teachers,” Skye pointed out.

“Maybe.” Trip looked thoughtful, but the crinkle in between his eyebrows betrayed more concern than he was letting on. “He seems pretty… unstable right now. I’m not sure now is the best time to poke the bear, honestly.”

“We can’t wait around forever,” Skye countered. “If we do that, then we don’t do anything to fix the problem in the first place, and we keep living our lives afraid of what he’s going to do next. I don’t want to live like that.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Trip assured her. “Come on, girl, you know me better than that. I’m not saying we don’t settle things with him once and for all, I’m just saying maybe wait until he’s not actively out for blood. The plan was for a controlled setting, remember?”

“Controlled environment, fewer variables,” Jemma nodded.

“All right, fine,” conceded Skye, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Just stop talking science-y at me, okay?” She flashed a grin that even gloomy Fitz couldn’t help but return.

“I should probably go,” Trip said eventually, swiveling his head around to check for Ward. “His message wasn’t all that long, so I don’t want to seem suspicious talking with you guys. I’ll check in soon, okay? We’ll figure out the right timeframe for phase two, I promise.”

“Counting on it,” Skye smiled. She watched as Trip jogged away and eased back into a group of boys horsing around on the basketball court as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He really was an excellent double agent, she thought.

“I’m sorry we had to leave so soon last night,” Fitz mumbled, once it was just the three of them. “I hope Bobbi is all right.”

“She’s okay,” Skye said. “A lot of stuff happened last night that was kind of hard for her, but May and Phil helped. And she didn’t get hurt or anything.”

“What about Hunter?” Jemma asked. “Is he hurt?”

“Pretty banged up,” Fitz nodded. “He’s mad, too. Wouldn’t talk the rest of the night. My aunt was going mental at the sight of him, but he wouldn’t tell her what happened. They got in a big row over it. He… he did stuff like this back when they lived in England. It was one of the reasons why they decided to leave. Get him a fresh start.”

“He’s not still mad at Bobbi, is he?” Skye demanded. “Because that’s not fair. She didn’t mean to keep stuff from him for so long, and even if she did, it’s just because telling people you’re in foster care is hard, especially when...” Skye trailed off. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say what Bobbi’s dad had done to her. That felt like something that wasn’t hers to tell. Even Raina hadn’t said that part last night.

“I don’t really know,” Fitz said. “Maybe. He doesn’t like it when people lie to him, but he also doesn’t like losing fights. So who knows what’s really upsetting him.”

“Phil said they were all going to have to see the principal this morning,” said Jemma. “Everyone who was involved in the fight. I think Bobbi was a little worried about that.”

“Do they kick people out of school for getting in fights here?” Skye asked nervously. One of the schools she had gone to when she stayed with a foster family in Plymouth had been like that. When she got caught fighting with a girl who had been making fun of her, the school expelled her. It didn’t matter that the girl had been antagonizing Skye for weeks, making fun of her clothes and her eyes and doing infuriating things like leaving hundreds of Chinese takeout menus in her locker. All that mattered to the school was that Skye had hit the girl, and that was that. Once she got kicked out, the foster family sent her back, too. That part wasn’t so bad, since the foster family hadn’t been a good one, and she was eager to get away from a place where she got smacked around all the time. She didn’t think Phil and May would be the type of people to send Bobbi away if she got expelled from school, but that didn’t stop her stomach from twisting anxiously at the idea.

“I don’t think so,” Fitz said comfortingly. “Suspensions, maybe, but I’ve never heard of anybody getting expelled.”

“Suspensions?” squeaked Jemma.

“They’re not so bad,” Skye shrugged. Having experienced a few herself, she didn’t think there was quite as much to worry about with a suspension. The worst thing was the way the teachers all treated you when you came back, as far as she was concerned. Well that, or whatever punishment your foster family cooked up for you for getting suspended, but that didn't seem like a reasonable fear with May and Phil. They wouldn’t be happy, for sure, but they wouldn’t fly off the handle or kick anyone out for that.

“They might not get suspended,” Fitz soothed, turning gentle eyes on Jemma. “It’s not like they did it at school or anybody got seriously hurt. Maybe they’ll just all get detentions.”

“Wouldn’t that be a fun crowd to get stuck in detention with?” Skye smirked. “Somehow I don’t see that ending with them all becoming friends and joining a club for eating breakfast together.”

Fitz scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “Huh?”

“It’s some old movie,” Skye shrugged with a laugh. “I’ve never actually seen it, but I think they make a club for pancakes and eggs and stuff in detention. Definitely not like any detention I’ve ever had.”

* * *

Skye and the others avoided Ward the rest of the day, per Trip’s suggestion, and the day passed without incident. Even tutoring was uneventful, despite it not being quite how it usually was. Phil had warned Skye in the car that Natasha wouldn’t be there this week, since she was doing afterschool detention (no mention of breakfast foods, Skye noticed). She had worried that she’d get stuck with Raina again, but thankfully Raina was nowhere to be seen, and instead Skye worked with a boy named Tomás who was nice enough, but kind of dry and boring. All he wanted to do was drill her math worksheet, and while he helped her figure out the right answers, Skye wasn’t sure she could replicate the process if she had been asked to.

The real surprise of the day came when they all walked through the front door after coming home and were met with the smiling face of May peering out from the kitchen.

“You’re just in time,” she said warmly, beckoning for them to drop their shoes and backpacks by the door and join her. Skye looked up at Phil, cocking her head to one side in curiosity, but Phil just smiled and waved her through.

“Better go see what she’s up to,” he grinned. “I’m certainly not going to spoil the surprise.”

Skye wrestled her shoes off her feet and padded behind Bobbi and Jemma, desperately intrigued about what was going on. The kitchen counters were full of things – bottles and boxes and bowls – and May was pulling a few more out of the fridge.

“What are you doing home so early?” Skye asked, leaning to better see what exactly was piling up on the counters. “And in the kitchen?”

“I worked through lunch so I could be home in time to meet you all after school,” May said, setting a carton of eggs and a package of some kind of ground-up meat down next to the stove. “We’re making jiaozi.”

Skye had no idea what that meant, and she wasn’t entirely sure that answered her question, either. She glanced over at Bobbi and Jemma, who looked just as confused as Skye felt.

“My mother always said that the best cure for a bad day was a good meal,” May explained as she rolled up her sleeves. She gestured for the girls to wash their hands at the sink as she continued. “And her go-to for a good meal is always jiaozi. I think we’ve all had a little bit of a rough time these past few days, so I thought it was time for us to have some.”

“And you want us to help you?” Bobbi asked hesitantly.

May nodded. “If you want to, of course. My mother taught me, and her mother taught her, and I thought…” She trailed off, and Skye could have sworn she looked a little sheepish. “Well, I just thought you all might like to learn. Plus, they taste better when you’ve helped to make them, if you ask me.”

Skye felt a grin break across her face. She liked helping in the kitchen, and cooking with May sounded way more fun than doing homework, which is usually what she did after coming home. “What do we do first?”

May guided them over to a big bowl, where she had flour already measured out. “We’re going to make the wrappers first,” she said, handing Bobbi a slightly steaming cup of water and passing Jemma a dish of salt. “Jemma, add a little salt to our flour, and then Bobbi, you can add the water.”

“How much?” Jemma wanted to know. Her fingers hung in midair over the salt, waiting.

“Just some,” May told her. “There’s not really an amount. Just enough to season it and help with the mixing.”

“But mixtures need measurements,” Jemma said slowly. “Otherwise the composition won’t be right.”

“I know how you feel,” smiled May. “I used to get so mad when my mother wouldn’t let me measure anything for jiaozi. She still refuses to write down the recipe, no matter how many times I beg her. She says this is more of a _feeling_ recipe than a _thinking_ one, which drives me crazy. But I’ve come to accept it for the most part. Cooking like this is a lesson in letting go, for me. In trusting my instincts.”

Jemma didn’t look entirely convinced, but she managed to pinch up a decent amount of salt and sprinkle it into the bowl.

“Very nice,” May nodded. “Now you, Bobbi.” Bobbi added the water, and May began to mix the ingredients together. Once they had combined, she inclined her head towards Skye. “Skye, come help me knead? Get your hands in there and start to work the dough so it gets nice and smooth.”

Delighted, Skye plunged her hands into the bowl. She relished the squishy feeling of the dough between her fingers, and she was surprised at how quickly it stiffened in her hands.

“I thought it would be stickier,” she said.

“I guess we added just the right amount of flour and salt,” May beamed. “If we hadn’t, it would be pretty sticky right about now.” She watched as Skye kneaded for a minute more, then guided Skye’s hands out of the bowl. “All right, good work. Now we’re going to let this sit for a little bit while we mix up the inside part. We’ll knead it again before too long, don’t you worry,” she added with a chuckle, seeing the crestfallen look on Skye’s face.

Mixing up the inside turned out to be significantly more complicated than the dough, but no one seemed to mind. May coached them through adding a myriad of spices, seasonings, and sauces to the ground meat, which Skye learned was pork. Some of the ingredients they added were things Skye recognized, like salt, ginger, and soy sauce, but others were entirely new to her. They had interesting names, like oyster sauce and sesame oil, and they had interesting smells, too. Earthy and salty and spicy. Skye could have breathed in those smells for hours and never have gotten tired of them.

Jemma had a harder time adding ingredients than Skye did, mostly because she was afraid to add in the wrong amount of something. Skye took immense pleasure in the freedom of tipping the different powders and liquids into the bowl in whatever way ‘felt’ right to her. Bobbi, for the most part, took the cooking in stride, doing her best to follow May’s instructions. Every time Skye peeked at her, Bobbi was smiling, especially when she watched Skye or Jemma add their ingredients. Skye was glad to see Bobbi looking so happy and relaxed – it was a far cry from the Bobbi she had seen last night, or even that morning.

“We’ve got to put in a few eggs, so the mixture sticks together,” May explained, pulling two eggs out from the carton. Without hesitating, May rapped one egg against the counter and cracked it into the bowl in one swift, singlehanded motion. Skye gaped.

“How did you do that?”

“With a lot of practice,” May laughed. “I’m not exactly the best cook, but I do like to bake, so I’ve cracked a lot of eggs in my time. I saw some chef on TV crack her eggs one handed once ages ago – I was probably still in high school – and after that I was determined to learn how. It took me a long time to get it right.” She held out the other egg to Skye. “Do you want to try?”

Skye shook her head. “I’ll mess it up.”

“You don’t know that,” May told her. “You won’t know until you try.”

Gingerly, Skye took the egg and adjusted her grip on the shell to try and match the way May had been holding it. She took a steeling breath, then smashed the egg against the counter. The egg promptly exploded, leaking white and yolk all over the counter and dripping it down Skye’s hand. Skye’s face flushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, scrambling to scoop up the bits of shell and goop that were oozing all over the place. “I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up.”

“It’s okay,” May assured her. Skye was still frantically trying to clean the mess in front of her, but May placed a restraining hand gently on Skye’s wrist and Skye looked up to see that May was smiling – one of those smiles that people wear when they’re trying not to laugh, but in a nice way, not a mean one. Skye’s shoulders sagged with the release of a tension she didn’t know she had been holding.

“That’s pretty much how my first attempt went, too,” May said. “I told you it took me a long time to get it right. That was a good first try.”

“But I messed it up,” Skye pointed out. “And I made a huge mess and wasted the egg.”

“You’re learning,” said May kindly. “Messing up is a part of learning. And the egg wasn’t wasted if it helped you to learn. Besides, we have plenty more. Do you want to try again?”

Skye thought about it for a minute while she washed her hand off. “Okay,” she decided. “I’ll try.”

“Good girl,” May smiled. “Let’s do this one together, all right?” She handed Skye a new egg and arranged her fingers around the shell. In the moment before they brought the egg down against the counter together, Skye marveled at the way May’s hand fit so neatly over the top of her own. It was like they were two pieces that had been made precisely for the purpose of fitting together – puzzle pieces that had found their match.

This time, when Skye struck the egg against the counter, May helped to temper the amount of force that she used, and the egg didn’t shatter immediately upon impact.

“Good,” May said encouragingly as she guided Skye’s hand holding the cracked egg over to the bowl. “Now use your thumb to push half of the shell one way and your middle finger to push the other half the other way, that’s it.” Skye watched in amazement as the shell separated in her hand and the yolk slid easily out into the bowl. It wasn’t a totally perfect attempt – a little piece of shell escaped into the bowl and Skye still got some of the runny white on her fingers – but it was miles better than her first one.

“It worked!” Skye said, excitement bursting like a firecracker in her chest. She turned back towards Jemma and Bobbi, beaming. “Did you see?”

“I saw,” Bobbi laughed. “Nice work.”

“That was almost as good as May’s,” Jemma nodded, impressed.

“You two will get your turn in a little bit,” May promised as she picked the tiny pieces of shell out of the bowl and washed her hands. “Right now we need to stir.”

They mixed the meat in the bowl until it started to stick together, then May set the bowl to the side. She pulled the dough bowl back out and indicated for Jemma to pick up the dough and start kneading it again.

“We want to work it until it’s nice and smooth,” she explained and Jemma huffed over the now stiff dough. Jemma wore a very serious expression as she worked the dough, like she was diffusing a bomb instead of just massaging some proto-bread, and Skye bit down on her lip to force herself to keep a straight face. She made the mistake of catching Bobbi’s eye, however, and the two of them failed to suppress giggles. Jemma frowned indignantly.

“It’s not funny. It’s hard. You have to concentrate to get it right.”

“We’re not laughing at you,” Bobbi assured her. She took a step closer to Jemma. “Can I help?” Jemma nodded and made room for Bobbi at the counter. Bobbi stuck her hands into the dough right alongside Jemma’s and Skye watched as her expression went from light amusement to stern concentration in a matter of seconds.

“She’s right, the dough’s really stiff,” Bobbi puffed, forcing the dough down with her fist. The muscles in her arms were taut as she stretched and pounded the dough.

“That’s okay, it usually starts like that. That’s why we knead it twice before we let it rest. You two are doing a great job.”

Eventually the dough was smooth enough to suit May, and she dropped the dough ball back into the bowl to rest.

“Now’s the hardest part. We have to wait an hour for the filling to marinate and for the dough to rest.”

“An hour?” Skye pouted. She hated waiting under the best of circumstances, but waiting around for food to _rest_ sounded impossibly boring.

“Don’t worry,” May smiled. “I have a few tricks to make the time go faster.”

They started by clearing away everything that they had been using to cook with, putting the jars and bottles and boxes back where they belonged and washing out spoons and bowls that were now empty. With all four of them working, it didn’t take long at all, and soon the kitchen was shiny and clean once more. Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, May pulled down some flour and sugar from the cabinet and set them out on the counter.

“Who thinks we should make something sweet to go with our dinner? Maybe a cake?”

Skye’s eyes lit up with uncontained excitement. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten a piece of cake, much less baked one herself. Without thinking, she started bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in elated anticipation while beside her Jemma and Bobbi were both wearing matching grins.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” chuckled May. She finished pulling out the remaining ingredients and grabbed a little box from a shelf. Skye peeked around May’s shoulder to look inside the box and saw a row of index cards all lined up neatly, waiting to be thumbed through. It only took May a second to rifle past a few cards and pluck out one with soft edges and a bent corner – a well-loved and oft used card, Skye was sure.

“This is an old standard,” May said, setting the recipe card down for them to see. “And Jemma, I think this might be a little bit more your speed. Precise measurements are much more important in baking than in cooking, in my experience. It’s one of the reasons why I like to bake better and why my cooking never turns out quite as good as Phil’s or my mother’s.”

May was right. Jemma was in her element, squinting at the measuring cups as they poured out units of milk and dragging a butter knife across the tops of the flour and sugar cups to get the lines just so. Skye didn’t have quite the patience for it, but she enjoyed dumping in what Jemma had measured and watching as Bobbi worked the mixer around the sides of the bowl, blending everything together.

The cake took a lot of eggs, too, and just as May had promised, they all got some practice with their one-handed cracking. Bobbi came the closest to matching May’s technique, only losing a little bit of egg down her fingers as she prodded the shell apart, and Jemma had trouble rapping the egg hard enough against the counter to get a good break along the shell.

“It’s okay to be aggressive with it,” May encouraged, cupping Jemma’s wrist and demonstrating the amount of force without actually hitting the egg on the counter. “You don’t want to slam it, of course, that’s how you get egg explosions—”

“Egg-splosions,” Skye snickered. May rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Don’t let Phil hear you cracking egg jokes,” she warned. “If he gets wind that you’re making egg puns, he’ll be insufferable. He can’t help himself.”

“I bet that’s pretty egg-sasperating,” Skye joked. “Even though egg jokes are an egg-shell-ant kind of joke.”

“Of yolk,” Bobbi amended, biting back a laugh. “Egg-shell-ant kind of yolk.”

May cast a pretend-desperate glance to Jemma. “What are we going to do with these two, huh?” she asked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “They’re just as bad as Phil.” Jemma giggled and leaned into May’s side slightly, tapping cheerily on the back of May’s hand. Skye knew Jemma was clever enough to have probably come up with about a dozen more egg-themed puns, but she also knew Jemma was kind enough to not leave May all alone on the anti-pun team.

It occurred to Skye that she had never seen Jemma act quite so happy and relaxed around a grownup before, and while a tiny part of her heart twinged at the idea that there was a person other than her who could coax Jemma out of her shell so easily, that part was quickly overwhelmed by the glowing warmth of knowing that her best friend was finally in a place where she felt safe and really, truly happy. She wondered if Jemma knew it for what it was, or if it was more of a feeling than a knowing. She wondered if there would ever come a time when she fully felt the same thing. Maybe she felt it here and now, but it was so hard to be sure. She wasn’t really sure what kind of a feeling she was supposed to be waiting around for, if she was being honest. She knew she liked it here. She liked living with May and Phil better than any other foster home she’d ever had, she liked having Bobbi as an older foster sister, and of course she loved sharing a life with Jemma.

Things were as good as she could have ever hoped for, and she was grateful for everything that May and Phil did for them, everything that they meant for them. But she couldn’t shake the nagging, lingering doubt that there was something that still hadn’t clicked quite into place. As jubilant and charming as the scene unfolding in front of her was, there was some part of Skye’s brain, or maybe her heart, that kept whispering to her that it wasn’t real. It wouldn’t last. It wasn’t for her. She didn’t really belong in this life the way Jemma and Bobbi did. She hated that part of herself, and she wished she knew how to silence it for good, but nothing she could think of seemed to shutter it away.

* * *

They finished the cake batter a few minutes later, and Skye watched as May tipped the yellow batter into a pan, the mixture falling down like liquid ribbons out of the bowl. Into the oven it went, and by the time they had cleaned up the mess from mixing up the cake, it was time to pull out the jiaozi and finish putting them together. May showed them how to roll out the dough and pull little chunks off that could be rolled into small circles, then flattened out thin enough to use as wrappers, and while Skye, Jemma, and Bobbi set to work on that, May turned her attention to the filling. She chopped up skinny green things – chives and scallions, she told them – and mixed them with sesame oil before adding them into the pork and giving the whole thing a good stir.

“Nice work,” she said, checking on their dough rolling. “Okay, now this part we need to do kind of quickly, so the dough doesn’t dry out before we have a chance to shape it. Watch.” She scooped up a blob of the filling and slid it into the middle of one of the thin circles of dough that they had rolled out. In one fluid motion, she folded the dough into a semi-circle up and around the filing, then pinched the edges in and upward, sealing the whole thing up like a tiny little package. It was all Skye could do not to stare slack-jawed at the ease with which May had just created the neat little dumpling.

“For someone who says she’s not a very good cook, you sure look like you know what you’re doing,” Bobbi remarked, eyeing the dumpling with apprehension.

“I promise, I’m really not a good cook,” May chuckled. “Just get Phil to tell you the crockpot story sometime. Or the thanksgiving story. That’s all the proof you need. I’ve just had a lot of practice with jiaozi – I’ve been making them since I was very small, after all. If it wasn’t for my mother’s training, these would turn out as a disaster every time.”

She handed them each a wrapper and urged them to start folding. Not surprisingly, making the dumpling was much harder than May had made it look. Skye couldn’t seem to get the right amount of filling scooped out for hers – her first one had way too much and oozed out of the corners that she tried to fold, and her next attempt was basically nothing but dough – but May kept telling her that she was doing a good job. Even harder than the filling was the actual folding. It was hard to get the middle parts to stay still while Skye’s clumsy fingers navigated around the edges of the dough and tried to seal them shut. None of hers looked even close to the shape that May had made, but at least after a few they seemed to stay closed.

Eventually, they started to find a rhythm, and Skye found herself looking for a way to fill the quiet that had settled over them while they worked.

“Is your mom still alive, May? Does she live close to here?”

“She is alive. I need to call her actually, I’ve been meaning to do that for weeks. She lives in Pennsylvania. That was the last place she traveled for her job, and once she retired she just decided to stay there.”

“You didn’t have to move with her?” Skye asked.

“No,” May shook her head. “She got transferred here when I was in high school. That was right around when she and my dad got divorced, too, so she and I moved here and he stayed in Arizona. She didn’t get transferred again until I was in college, and by that point I was tired of moving around so much, so I decided to stay here and live on my own. Plus I was dating Phil by then, and I didn’t really want to move far away from him, either.”

“What kind of job did she have that made you move so much?” Bobbi wanted to know.

“She was with the CIA,” May said slowly.

“What?” That was basically the coolest thing Skye had ever heard in her life, and she was desperate to know more about May’s mom the super-spy.

“It’s not as cool as it sounds,” May informed them. “I mean, it was still pretty cool, I guess, but she wasn’t a secret agent or anything. She did a lot with their data management, and she helped get local servers and databases up and running around the country in all the different CIA offices. Back in those days computers were still kind of a beast to understand and operate, so there weren’t a lot of people like her who could run the numbers and work the machines. She stayed busy.”

“What about your dad? Was he in the FBI or something?”

“Not quite,” May laughed. “He was a pilot. He was in the Air Force for a while, and then when he left that he was a commercial pilot for a long time after. He’s retired now, too.”

“Do you get to see them often?” Jemma asked.

“From time to time. My mother will swing by every now and then, sometimes unannounced, which is always an interesting time. My dad doesn’t like to travel as much, probably because he did so much of it when he was working, but Phil and I try to go out to Arizona to see him at least once a year. And we email and talk on the phone plenty, too. That’s kind of how it goes when you all live so far apart from each other, but it seems to work for us.”

They had finished folding the last of the jiaozi, which meant it was time to actually cook them. May explained that they were going to boil the dumplings, and she filled up a big pot with water to be heated on the stove. While they waited for the water to boil, she pulled out the cake from the oven, which smelled heavenly to Skye. Warm and sweet and homey. It looked good, too – a nice golden brown color that reminded her of honey.

“We’ll put some frosting on once it’s had a chance to cool off,” May said, correctly interpreting Skye’s longing gaze. “Anything we put on it right now would just melt right off.”

Skye’s disappointment at having to wait to frost the cake was quickly abated by the boiling of the water, which meant it was time to drop the dumplings in and watch as they bobbed around in the steamy pot, dancing right alongside the bubbles in the water.

“I guess I finished grading those quizzes just in time,” came Phil’s exuberant voice from the doorway. Skye looked over to see him glowing and grinning and looking overall very Phil-like. The sight made her chest feel like the jiaozi pot, all bubbly and jumpy inside. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

“We made a cake,” Skye told him excitedly. “And jiaozi. May taught us.”

“Sounds like I’m in for a real treat tonight, then,” Phil beamed. “I don’t have to cook _and_ I get to eat something delicious made by all my favorite people.”

None of them could help blushing at that.

* * *

The jiaozi had turned out amazing, in Skye’s opinion. The dough that had been so stiff to knead was soft and tender after cooking, and the filling was packed with more flavors than Skye had ever tasted all together in one food. There was brightness from the scallions and juiciness from the pork, and the seasonings all spoke to one another, creating a conversation of saltiness, acidity, heat, and something rich, almost unctuous in its taste. Also amazing was the cake, which was just as sweet and fluffy as Skye had hoped it would be. She wondered if May and Phil were the type of people who would let you have a cake on your birthday, and if there was any way she might still be here when that time came around for her. If it did, the cake they had made tonight was exactly the kind of cake she wanted when the day arrived.

The only downside to spending the afternoon cooking with May was that, after the dinner and dessert had been eaten and dishes had been washed, Skye still had homework to finish. She wasn’t the only one, though, so once the table was clear of dinner remnants, all five of them ended up sitting around it, each person with their own work in front of them. Phil was jotting down some notes on his lesson plans, but mostly he was keeping an eye on Skye, who had a worksheet for science to finish filling out. They had moved on from their unit on DNA to a unit about other kinds of cells, and Skye was supposed to be labeling the different parts of the cell on a poorly xeroxed diagram, but she was having trouble telling the pictures apart and the names of all the parts were complicated words that she couldn’t remember how to spell.

Jemma, who had finished her cell diagram earlier in the day, plugged away instead at a math worksheet that was clogged up with x’s and y’s and little graphs of lines that went up and down, and Skye counted her lucky stars that at least she didn’t have to worry about math with letters and lines just yet. Bobbi had her chin propped on her fist as she flicked through pages of a book for her English class, but she didn’t look all that interested in whatever she was supposed to be reading, and May was sifting through a packet of papers that didn’t look like they came from the police station.

“What are you working on?” Skye asked, curiosity getting the better of her and winning out over the boring and complicated science worksheet.

“I’m looking at some of these things that Mrs. Hinton sent home with us,” May told her, her eyes still on the papers. “Some resources for helping you with school, some guidelines on ways that we can support you. And somewhere in here is a list of therapists that Mrs. Hinton recommends. I wanted to take a look at that and see if there were some that Phil and I could look into this weekend to see if there was someone who might be a good fit for all of us.”

“Oh.” Skye didn’t regret agreeing to go with Bobbi to therapy, exactly. She was glad that there was something she could do to help Bobbi out after everything Bobbi had done for her over the last couple of months, but her shoulders went tight and she still got a prickly, cold feeling on the back of her neck every time she thought about having to go see one of those doctors. She felt like May and Phil wouldn’t send her to someone who would make her feel small and scared and stupid, like some of the other doctors she’d had to see had made her feel, and she was pretty sure they wouldn’t let some doctor tell them that she was a _hopeless case who needed strong discipline_. ‘Beyond intervention’ is what one doctor had said. She hadn’t understood what that meant when she heard it, but later on Jemma had explained that the doctor didn’t think there was anything she could do to fix everything that was wrong with Skye. May and Phil would do their best to find someone nice, they had promised, but still, the apprehension clouded over her brain like a nervous fog any time the subject came up.

“Come on, Skye, try and stay focused, please,” Phil prompted, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against her worksheet. “Which one of these is the nucleus?”

“I don’t know,” Skye moped. “They all look the same. It’s just a bunch of blobs inside of a bigger blob.”

“That’s fair,” Phil admitted. “It’s not a very good copy, and a lot of them look similar. But you still have to try, kiddo.”

“That one,” Skye said, pointing at the first blob she laid her eyes on. It was long and skinny with wriggly lines inside of it.

“Did you try, or did you just pick one to be done with it?” Phil asked pointedly. Skye blushed and looked back at the paper, studying the shapes carefully.

“Maybe that one,” she corrected herself. She pointed at something round near the center of the picture. “The nucleus is the thing in the middle, right? Like the brain?”

“It’s the control center of the cell,” Jemma piped up. “That’s where the DNA is stored, too.”

“So did I get it right?”

“Yes,” Phil smiled. “Good work. Go ahead and write that one in, okay?”

Scrunching up her nose, Skye worked hard to scratch out _n-u-k-l-i-u-s_ next to the middle blob. She was pretty sure that wasn’t the right spelling, but she hoped that it would be close enough to get her the points. Mr. DeRosa should be able to tell what she meant, at least.

“Oh my god,” May said suddenly. Skye flicked her eyes up from her homework to see May staring at one of her papers, her eyes wide and her eyebrows creeping up her forehead in surprise. “There’s no way.”

“Mel? What is it, honey?”

“It’s… well, it’s…” May passed the paper to Phil, who skimmed it quickly. After a beat, his face slid into a nearly identical expression.

“Well, I’ll be…” he murmured, chuckling slightly. “I’m a little embarrassed we didn’t think of him sooner.”

“What’s going on?” Skye demanded. She hated being kept out of the loop when something interesting was happening right in front of her.

“One of the psychiatrists on here, he’s… I used to know him. We haven’t talked in ages,” May said hesitantly.

“We went to high school with him,” Phil added, giving May one of those looks that Skye knew meant there was more to the story than what they were saying. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. They were hiding something from them.

“What is it?” Skye asked accusatorily. “You’re leaving something out.”

“I also used to date him,” May said flatly, after a long pause. “Before I dated Phil, of course. But he used to be my boyfriend.”

“No way,” Skye said, her mouth hanging open. “Your _boyfriend_?”

“Well you don’t have to act quite so surprised,” May said with a teasing smile. “Phil wasn’t my first and only love.”

“I’d be more offended at that if I didn’t know that I’m your number-one guy these days,” Phil teased back.

“Definitely my number one,” May assured him. She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “You’re the one I picked to marry, after all. Nobody else has anything on you.” Phil smiled wide and turned his head so that instead of kissing him on the cheek, May was kissing him on the mouth. Skye wrinkled her nose and Bobbi, who had set her book down, hastily picked it back up, her cheeks scarlet.

“Don’t be gross,” Skye groaned, clapping a hand over her eyes. She heard Jemma giggling somewhere beside her, and she couldn’t help but smile a little. She had to admit it was nice to have foster parents who actually liked each other enough to want to kiss, but still, she could do without the PDA.

“All right, all right,” Phil said, laughing. “You can uncover your eyes, Bashful. We’ll just save the rest of our kissing for after you all have gone to bed.”

“Phil, I said don’t be gross!” Skye was trying her hardest to be indignant, but they were all laughing along with Phil now, and it didn’t take much before Skye had joined in too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Skye, at long last :) Hope you enjoyed this one, it was lots of fun to write! I thought we needed something a little more lighthearted after everything that's been happening the last few chapters, and cooking with my mom or grandmother is/was always something that makes me feel better, so here we are... It would have been her 81st birthday today, as a matter of fact, which I didn't plan ahead, but feels rather poignant now :)
> 
> Things are getting a little busy at work again, so it might be a little bit before the next update. I'm doing my best to stick with a reasonably regular schedule, though! Hopefully we won't have to wait too terribly long :)
> 
> Thank you all so very much for reading! I'm always so happy to share cyberspace with you all <3


	56. In Session (Part I)

Time grew slippery around the house. Days faded into weeks, and October folded over into November, drab chilly rains being replaced with sharp cold and steely skies. A few mornings the grass had glittered with frost, and the air was cold enough to turn their breath into thick, pearly fog, but so far there had been no snow to speak of, which Skye found more than a little disappointing.

It felt like everything in her world was holding its breath to her, and not just the weather. At school things felt like they were hanging up in the air, suspended and waiting for some big moment to send everything crashing back down to earth. Ward was angry and on edge, but so far nothing had come of his threats. Skye’s grades were slowly starting to inch up towards passing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that at any minute, she was going to lose her footing and the gigantic boulder of school was going to come rolling back down the hill and crush her flat. She felt the same way about home, as they danced around and tried to navigate the choppy waters of setting appointments with a doctor Skye was dreading having to go see. She caught snippets of phone conversations between Phil and May and different people – Miss Hand, Mrs. Hinton, probably the different doctors’ offices. She knew they were working hard to get everything lined up, and the longer the time passed from when she had first agreed to go, the more Skye began to regret her words.

“I just can’t believe it’s going to take two months to get an appointment,” she had heard May grumbling to Phil one night well past her bedtime, when she had wandered back downstairs to look for her copy of _Stargirl_. She knew she probably shouldn’t be listening, but she also knew they were talking about her, and the curiosity overpowered her.

“We haven’t tried everyone on the list yet,” Phil said gently. Peering around the corner of the doorframe, Skye could see Phil standing behind May and wrapping her shoulders up in a hug from behind. May leaned her head onto his arm.

“Phil, honey, you don’t think that would be more than a little… _weird_? Awkward?”

“Andrew’s a friend, even if it’s been a while. And we all managed to still like each other even after you two broke up and you and I started dating. Nothing could be more awkward than that.” He chuckled a little, and he started swaying a little, back and forth, bringing May along with his rhythm. “You know him. You know he’s good. And you know you trust him. I don’t want to send the girls to someone we don’t trust.”

“I know, me neither,” May admitted. “I’m just dreading making that first phone call. What am I supposed to say to someone who I haven’t spoken to in years?”

“‘Hello’ is always a good place to start.”

* * *

Finally, nearly two weeks after they had first started talking about finding a therapist, the day of their appointments came. It was a cold and overcast Saturday, the kind of day that would be best spent in pajamas watching cartoons, in Skye’s opinion, but they needed to be at the doctor’s office by 9:30, so there was hardly time to wolf down some cereal and get dressed, much less tune into the Avengers.

Her stomach had been flipflopping since she woke up that morning, and it was all she could do to force herself to stay somewhat still in her chair at the kitchen table. The only thing keeping her from banging her spoon against her bowl like a drum or bolting up and running a few laps around the kitchen was her knee, which rocketed up and down under the table. She poked at her cereal halfheartedly, but only managed to eat a few bites before it was time to go.

She wasn’t the only one, either. Jemma hadn’t even fixed herself anything to eat, and she hadn’t stopped tapping from the moment she got out of bed. At least it was a steady tap, not a frantic one, so Skye knew Jemma wasn’t as completely wigged out as she was. Bobbi looked tense and queasy, and it didn’t escape Skye’s notice that Bobbi had brought her batons down from her bedroom. She wasn’t twirling them, but they rested right on her lap, where Skye figured she could probably grab them at a moment’s notice. Ever since she had explained about her batons to Phil and May, Bobbi had been less shy about bringing them out, although it was still rare to see her twirl when other people were around. Skye thought she understood that – even if it didn’t feel right to do something like twirling or tapping in front of other people, it was still nice to have something to hold onto that reminded you that you had a way to make things better if you needed it.

“It’s time to go,” Phil said with forced cheerfulness, once it was clear no one was going to make much headway on their breakfasts. “You all can go grab your shoes, Melinda and I will take care of the dishes and we’ll meet you in the car, okay?”

Skye’s stomach turned over with a clunk, like a bad engine. There was a moment of panic where her brain zipped through a hundred different excuses or ways to get out of this. She could pretend to be sick. She could refuse to move and wrap herself around the leg of the table so no one could pull her away. She could run and run and run and never look back. Just as quickly, though, she came back to earth and reminded herself that those were all terrible ideas and she was supposed to be brave. They were all going together, and May and Phil promised it was going to be okay. She took a deep breath and headed for the door, scooping up her shoes on her way out.

“Skye, your coat,” Jemma reminded her. Skye took her hand off the door and turned back to the coatrack sheepishly.

“Oh yeah. Forgot.”

Somehow they all managed to get outside and into the car with shoes on feet and coats zipped. Skye was glad Jemma had forced her to remember hers, because the wind that whipped around their shoulders and ankles was bitingly cold. Once they were all piled into the car, though, with the heat blasting and her, Jemma, and Bobbi all squished into the backseat, it didn’t take long for everyone to warm up.

“Everyone okay?” May asked quietly, as they rode in tense silence. No one said anything, which didn’t surprise Skye one bit. She certainly wasn’t about to start talking about the writhing nest of jellyfish that was currently thrashing around in her stomach or the little alarm bells that kept clanging in her brain. She cast her eyes sideways to see if Jemma and Bobbi felt the same way. Jemma was staring at her lap, expression blank and finger rapping on her knee. Bobbi had her face turned so she was looking out the window, but Skye could see that she was running her thumb along the grip of her baton nervously.

“We’re going to take everything nice and slow,” Phil told them, smiling softly up into the rearview mirror. “And one of us will be with you the whole time, as long as you want us to be there.”

About ten minutes later, the car slowed and pulled into a small parking lot outside a nondescript brick building. It was the kind of building that Skye would have never paid any attention to if she had been passing by, but now that they were stopped right outside of it, it was like every detail was flashing a neon sign to her brain. The way the sidewalk in front of the door tilted upward, forced to slope up to accommodate a rogue tree root creeping over from the grass strip on the other side. The neatly stenciled letters on the door that felt to Skye like they were floating off the glass. The pit of dread that was burrowed so deeply she wondered if she could ever dig it out.

May reached the door first, but when she tried to open it, she looked like her arm had gotten stuck in midair. Intrigued, Skye watched as a muscle in May’s jaw jumped. Behind them, Phil cleared his throat gently, and at the sound, May inhaled sharply through her nose and unstuck her arm, grabbing the door handle and pushing. Maybe she was feeling nervous about today, too.

The inside of the office was warm and soft-feeling, not at all what Skye had expected. The other doctors’ offices she’d been dragged to over the years were often sterile, white, and severe, with hard plastic chairs and harsh fluorescent lights. Cold offices, both in temperature and atmosphere. Not this office, though. The chairs had wooden arms and legs, but fabric cushions on the seats, and the walls were a color somewhere between yellow and tan – a color that reminded Skye of bread or the cake that they had baked with May not so long ago. There were a couple big plants in pots sitting in the corners of the room, and off to one side there was a table with books, magazines, and some scattered Legos all sitting, ready to entertain anyone who might be waiting. There was a window set into one wall, and behind it a middle-aged woman with greying hair sat behind a desk. She looked up when they entered and smiled.

“Good morning,” she greeted them. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Melinda May, and this is my husband, Phil Coulson. We spoke on the phone a few times about an appointment with Dr. Garner…” May’s voice had that weird sound in it that she got when she talked on the phone – something formal and plasticky.

“May-Coulson, mm-hmm, yes, I see it right here.” The woman nodded as she skimmed her eyes across the computer screen in front of her. “You’re welcome to have a seat, I’ll let Dr. Garner know you’re here, and he’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Marilyn,” the woman supplied cheerfully.

“Thank you, Marilyn,” May said, sounding a little bit more like herself. She led them over to the chairs and perched on one herself. Phil stopped at the window before following, flashing Marilyn a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Phil. Thanks for your help.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Marilyn rose from her desk and disappeared towards the back of the office. As soon as she was gone, May arched an eyebrow in Phil’s direction.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” she teased.

“What? I was being polite,” Phil said good-naturedly. “And I like meeting people. Relationship building is one of life’s keys to success, kiddos, remember that,” he added, winking at Skye, Jemma, and Bobbi. Skye could tell he was being extra goofy in an attempt to smooth out their frayed nerves, and while it wasn’t the most effective of strategies, Skye could at least appreciate the effort.

Marilyn from the front desk had been right when she said that the doctor would be out soon, as it had only been a minute or two before the heavy wooden door that led to the rest of the office swung open and revealed a man who Skye could only assume was Dr. Garner. He was a tall Black man who looked to be around Phil and May’s age, which would make sense if they had all gone to school together when they were younger. He had short black hair, and even though his face looked serious, his dark eyes radiated kindness. Against her will, Skye felt suspicion curl around her heart and creep up the back of her neck like an insidious vine. Much like his office, Dr. Garner wasn’t what she’d been expecting, and the surprise set all of her senses on high alert. 

“My goodness,” he said, surveying the room and taking in the sight of the five of them, all waiting. His stoic expression melted away into a smile, almost amused. “Well, it certainly has been a while. Melinda, Phil, it’s really good to see you both.”

“Hi Andrew,” Phil beamed. He stood up from his chair and crossed over to shake the doctor’s hand. “A few years, at least, and totally my fault. I let the time get away from me.”

“Losing touch is a shared responsibility, Phil,” Andrew chuckled. “All I can say is I’m grateful for your letters at Christmas and the occasional Facebook post, otherwise I’d never get a chance to see how you all are doing.”

“My mom was always a stickler about the Christmas letters,” Phil admitted. “And Melinda likes that we keep the tradition alive.”

Hearing her name, Dr. Garner turned to May and deepened his smile. “You look good, Melinda. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” May said, a little stiffly. “Busy, of course. Things are pretty different around the house these days.”

“I can imagine,” Dr. Garner nodded. His gaze moved from May over to the row of chairs where Skye, Jemma, and Bobbi were all sitting. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Garner. Very pleased to meet you all. I’m sure you already know this, but Phil, Melinda, and I all go way back.”

“Is it true you were May’s boyfriend?” Skye blurted out, before she could stop herself. Immediately her face flushed beet red. Dr. Garner looked a little taken aback, but he answered without hesitation.

“Yes. A long time ago. And then we were friends for a long time after. All of us, as a matter of fact.”

“How come you aren’t friends anymore?” she wanted to know. As far as she could tell, none of them had gotten in a fight or moved away, so she couldn’t think of a good reason why they shouldn’t still be friends, unless Dr. Garner wasn’t as nice as May and Phil had promised he was.

“I wouldn’t say we’re not still friends,” Dr. Garner said thoughtfully. “Although you’re right, we don’t see each other nearly as often as we used to. Life got in the way, I suppose. We were friends in high school and college, and after that I went to medical school, which made my life very busy. It got harder to stay in touch. We did our best to make time for each other, but before we knew it, we were only seeing each other once or twice a year, then hardly ever at all.”

“The internet has helped a little,” Phil offered. “We keep each other posted about the big things that way, at least. But he’s right, it’s been a long time since we spent any real time together.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Dr. Garner smiled. “I can assure you this time will be strictly professional, though. I know not to get my social wire crossed with my work wire.”

“You always had a knack for separating the two,” May said. If Skye didn’t know any better, she might have thought that May was teasing him a little, but she thought that seemed a little far-fetched. “Seriously, though, we appreciate you doing this for us. There’s… there’s really nobody else we’d trust the girls with, Andrew, really.”

“I’m deeply honored,” he said gently. “And I’m eager to get to know your newest family members.”

“This is Skye, Jemma, and Bobbi,” May told him, indicating them each in turn. Skye gave a half-hearted wave, Bobbi a crooked, weak smile, and Jemma nothing but a couple of antsy taps on the arm of her chair. Dr. Garner didn’t seem offended by the lackluster reception, however, and his eyes remained warm as he nodded a greeting to each of them.

“I’m ready to start when you all are. Who’d like to go first?”

* * *

Not surprisingly, no one had exactly volunteered to go first. Eventually, though, Skye realized that if she went ahead and got hers out of the way, then she wouldn’t have to sit and worry about it the whole time she was waiting for Jemma and Bobbi to have their turns. Plus there was a tiny part of her that wanted to be brave for everyone and show Jemma and Bobbi that there really wasn’t anything to be afraid of, even though she herself was secretly terrified and it felt like her organs were all quaking with fear just under her skin.

They had all decided long before their arrival to the office that morning that May would sit in with Skye and Bobbi during their turns, and Phil would sit in with Jemma, but that didn’t stop May from checking with Skye before they followed Dr. Garner back through the heavy wooden door.

“Would you still like me to be there with you, Skye?” Skye thought for a second, then nodded. She knew she was supposed to be able to trust that Dr. Garner wouldn’t be like the other doctors, but the uneasiness was still there. At least if May was in the room, nothing too bad could happen to her. May wouldn’t let it, she’d promised, and so far May had kept every promise she’d made to Skye.

Dr. Garner led them down a short, carpeted hall. The walls were adorned with all kinds of framed pictures and paintings, all of which looked like they had been made by kids. Some were the smeary blobs of kindergarten finger paint, others were more intricate-looking sketches that might have been done by kids Bobbi’s age. At the end of the hall was another door, this one ajar. Dr. Garner pushed it open the rest of the way and gestured for Skye and May to enter, which they did obediently. Skye could hear a buzzing in her ears, and she could feel her heartbeat in her skull. Her fingers and arms and knees were all tingling with nerves, itching to do something to make the apprehension dissipate, but no brilliant ideas came to her as they walked into what could only be Dr. Garner’s office.

The office reminded Skye of a fancier version of Mrs. Hinton’s office back at school. There was a couch and a couple of quash-y looking armchairs all arranged in front of a big wooden desk. A worktable sat along one wall with a couple of chairs of its own, and the other walls were lined with bookshelves, all crammed full of books and binders and a few picture frames. There was a clock sitting on Dr. Garner’s desk, but the hands on it didn’t make any kind of ticking sound, as far as Skye could tell. That was a good sign, since clock ticks made it hard for her to concentrate.

“Have a seat, make yourself comfortable,” Dr. Garner said, grabbing a legal pad and a manila folder full of papers from his desk and settling into one of the armchairs. Skye was a little surprised he didn’t retreat behind his desk, but she didn’t quite know what kind of meaning she was supposed to extrapolate from the gesture, so she let it go. May waited for Skye to pick where to sit before making any moves herself, and after a moment of deliberation, Skye settled on the other armchair, leaving May to sit on the couch by herself. It wasn’t that Skye wanted to put distance between herself and May exactly, more like she was afraid that if she sat right next to May, it would be too easy to let her guard down.

“So, Skye,” Dr. Garner began, once they had all taken their seats. “One of the first questions I usually like to start with is why. Why did you decide to come and see me today?”

“Because I had to.” Skye swung her legs back and forth in the chair. The chair was big, and her feet didn’t quite touch the ground when she sat all the way back in it. It made her feel small, like a little kid or something. “They said at school that I was supposed to come get tests done.”

Dr. Garner made a thoughtful sound. “That sounds more like a reason why someone else wanted you to come, don’t you think? What about you? Did you decide to come because you agreed with the school? Or for a different reason?”

“I don’t know,” Skye said flatly, shrugging. Her eyes were fixed on her swinging feet. All of the sudden she was feeling very shy, and maybe a little surly, too. This was already starting to sound too much like every other grownup she’d ever had to talk with. Dumb questions that she didn’t know the answers to. She didn’t know what he wanted her to say.

“Skye,” May said softly, her tone a little stern. “We talked about this. You need to try.”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Garner assured them. His voice was light and breezy, not deterred, it seemed, by Skye’s standoffishness. “It’s not always an easy question to answer, and I may not be asking it correctly. Let me ask you this, instead. Do you want to be here, Skye?”

Skye sat there for a minute, not sure if honesty was the right call or not. She swung her legs a few more times before risking a glance up at May. She wore a serious expression, but as soon as she noticed Skye watching her, her expression changed. Her eyebrows inched up and she tilted her head just a little to one side, as if to say _well, why not?_ Skye scrunched up her nose in concentration and returned her attention to her dangling feet. “No. Not really.”

“That’s good to know,” Dr. Garner said with a chuckle. “I’m curious, what changed your mind? If you didn’t want to be here, why come now? You don’t strike me a person who does something you don’t want to do just because someone else said you had to.”

“Well, Bobbi didn’t want to come,” Skye tried to explain. “And she was… she needs… May and Phil thought she should get some help, because of how scary her memories can get, but she didn’t want to come. I said I’d do it if she did. That way she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“That’s very admirable of you, Skye.”

“It’s no big deal. Bobbi helps us out, too. Me and Jemma. So I wanted to return the favor, I guess.”

“I’m sure Bobbi appreciates it. And I know I’m certainly glad you’re here, even if you yourself aren’t so sure,” Dr. Garner smiled. “Is there a particular reason why you don’t want to be here?”

Skye just shrugged, a limp single shoulder pumping up and down. There were many reasons, none of which she was particularly interested in dissecting at the moment. She didn’t want to offend Dr. Garner by saying that she thought doctors were usually bad news, and she didn’t want to admit to May that she’d been through this before, that the results were never good.

“How does being here make you feel?” Dr. Garner asked, curious. “Nervous?”

“No!” Skye lied quickly. Too quickly. Her face grew hot and she hunkered down in her chair, a little embarrassed that she had tipped her hand so obviously. Her mind raced through a litany of possible things to say to steer the conversation in a different direction – preferably one that was less focused on her feelings. “How long were you May’s boyfriend for?”

Somewhere off to her side, May let out a long sigh – one of those tired sounding sighs that grownups used when they were getting a little fed up with the way you were acting – and Skye tried her best not to bristle at the sound. She wasn’t trying to make May mad, but she was desperate to talk about anything else.

“About two years,” Dr. Garner answered her. “We started dating our junior year of high school and broke up our freshman year of college.” His voice was measured and not especially exasperated. The lack of disapproval was like a tantalizing foothold of opportunity to Skye, and she couldn’t resist asking her next questions.

“How come you broke up? Did you get married to somebody else like May did?”

“Skye,” May warned. “You know that’s not an appropriate question. This isn’t the time to be pushing boundaries.”

“Sorry,” Skye mumbled, chastened.

“It’s all right, thank you for apologizing,” Dr. Garner said. “I hope you’ll forgive me for choosing not to answer those questions right now. I’m happy to answer other questions, of course, but those are a little personal. After all, we’ve only known each other a few minutes.” There was a twinkle in his eye when he said that last part, and Skye hoped that meant he wasn’t mad at her for being nosy. She hoped May wasn’t mad, either. She hadn’t meant to push boundaries – well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had meant to, but she hadn’t really thought it all the way through. Her nerves were all hot and vibrating like an overheated computer fan, and asking those questions was the first thing that popped into her head that might help cool things off.

“Maybe we should just start,” Skye said dully, dragging her toe across the carpet and relishing the scraping sound and buzzy feeling it made in her foot. “Do the tests or something.”

“We can do that,” nodded Dr. Garner. He pulled out the manila folder and began thumbing through some of the papers in it. “I have the referral paperwork here from your guidance counselor, plus some of her notes from the evaluation she did with you a few weeks ago. She recommended seeking out a potential diagnosis for dyslexia and for ADHD, is that correct?” Skye watched sneakily out of the corner of her eye as May nodded.

“That was her preliminary impression based on her time with Skye and observations from Skye’s teachers, yes,” May said.

“What about you and Phil?” Dr. Garner asked. “You see Skye more than her teachers. Would you say you share Mrs. Hinton’s impression?”

May looked thoughtful for a moment. She turned her attention on Skye and gave her a long, hard look before speaking. It wasn’t a bad look, though. Not one like Sister Margaret’s, which always felt like she was judging every inch of you from top to bottom, or like Brother Jonathan’s, which held nothing but contempt and disgust. It was softer than those, stronger. It was hard to describe, almost like May was trying to telegraph that the things she was about to say weren’t supposed to make Skye feel bad, even if they were bad things.

“Well, I don’t know much about either one beyond what Polly told us, plus a little internet research. Phil knows a little more, being a teacher, of course…” May trailed off, flicked her gaze from Skye to Dr. Garner and back to Skye again. “But if I had to guess, I’d say that Polly didn’t sound all that far off. We certainly trust her judgement and her expertise. Skye has a lot of trouble with reading, even though we know she’s very smart and she works hard. And some things like staying focused or reining in some of her impulses can be tricky.” The back of Skye’s neck felt hot and a lump was growing in her throat.

“What about you, Skye?” Dr. Garner wanted to know. “When Mrs. Hinton was explaining some of those terms to you, did it feel like she was describing you accurately? Or did it sound like she was talking about someone else who wasn’t like you?”

“Pretty close, I guess,” Skye murmured, unwanted shame flaring up inside her. “She said my brain mixes up the letters and that it’s really easy for me to get distracted. Jemma said there’s something with the chemicals in my brain or the shape of it or… something. She wanted to look at the scans.”

“Tell me what a normal day looks like for you,” Dr. Garner prompted. “From the time you wake up to the time you go to bed. What do you do?”

Skye furrowed her brow, thinking hard. “A school day? Or a weekend day?”

“School day,” Dr. Garner decided. “What’s first?”

“I get up. Phil wakes us up usually. Sometimes I wake up on my own first, though. When we first came here I woke up really early so I could sneak back into my room. Me and Jemma didn’t share rooms then, and I… I didn’t like being alone. But now we share, so I don’t have to get up early to sneak back anywhere.” She watched carefully as she spoke. Dr. Garner was making little notes on his paper, nodding along with her. “I get up. I eat breakfast. Usually we just have cereal, but sometimes we have pancakes, like on special days. Then we get our stuff and get in the car and go to school.”

“How long does it take you to get your things before leaving?”

“It depends I guess,” Skye shrugged. She had no idea what any of this had to do with her tests for school. “Jemma always tells me to put all my stuff in my backpack the night before and to leave my shoes someplace I’ll remember, but sometimes I forget to do it. It takes longer on those days, since I have to find all my stuff for school. And I’m pretty sure there’s like a law of the universe that says it’s always way harder to find the left shoe than the right one.”

Dr. Garner chuckled at that. “You may be right. My mother always told me there was a monster in our house who only ate left shoes, but I like your ‘law of the universe’ idea better, I think.” He made a few more notes, then looked up. “What about school? Tell me a little bit about what school is like for you.”

“It’s fine,” Skye said slowly. “It’s actually not so bad compared to some of my other schools. I haven’t had to go to office or do detention or anything yet. My grades are bad, but I go to tutoring. And I’m learning stuff in computer science. We’re making these little robots that can go through a maze. Well, that’s what they’re supposed to do. We haven’t gotten to that part yet. We’re writing a code to tell the robot where to go.”

“That sounds interesting,” Dr. Garner said. “Are all your classes that interesting?”

“Not really.” Skye crinkled up her nose slightly. “Most of the other ones are kind of boring. Or confusing. Or both. It’s a lot of sitting and listening and doing dumb quizzes and worksheets that I’m bad at.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“I just like it better when we get to do actual stuff. Not just paper work.”

“I can understand that.” Dr. Garner scratched something onto his notepad. “Well, Skye, let me tell you what I think we should try and get accomplished while we’re together today. I have a couple of activities that I like to use to help in my assessments. They’re probably pretty similar to some of the things you did with Mrs. Hinton at school, so there won’t be any big surprises. I’ll take a look at those, plus the notes she sent me from your school, and that will start to give me a clearer picture of you. We can also keep talking, if you want. The more I know about you, the easier it is to figure out the unique ways your brain might see the world. Does that make sense?”

Skye nodded. This was what she had been expecting. She wasn’t looking forward to it, by any means, but at least this was familiar. “Yeah.”

“One of my assessments is kind of like a quiz, but there’s no grade. I have a version that you can take with paper and pencil, or a version you can take on a computer. Do you have a preference?”

“Computer,” Skye said without hesitation. Dr. Garner smiled.

“I thought that might be the case.” He stood up and beckoned for her and May to follow him. Intrigued, Skye hopped up from her chair and trailed after him, back out into the hallway and over into a little side room that had a computer, set up and glowing, just waiting for her fingers to guide it.

“Why don’t we start with the computer quiz,” Dr. Garner suggested. “We’ve been doing a lot of sitting and talking. This will be a nice change of pace.” He clicked a few things, typed in what looked like a login and password, then stepped away and indicated that Skye should sit down. “Basically each question will give you a statement, then you can click the number that goes with how much you agree or disagree. 1 means not at all and 10 means like 100%. This icon here,” he pointed to a little speaker icon next to the first question, “will read the question out loud for you if you want it to. Does that sound like something you can do for me?”

Skye nodded. It didn’t sound nearly as hard as a science quiz, plus she wouldn’t have to read the questions herself.

“Great. You can take as long as you need,” Dr. Garner told her. “I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”

The quiz was unlike anything Skye had ever seen. The questions weren’t really questions at all, more like things about herself that were true or false. _It takes me a long time to finish things. I forget to do important things, like my homework or my chores. I am easily distracted by things going on around me._ Those were all things that she clicked high numbers for, plus the ones that talked about that crawly feeling she got in her arms and legs when she needed to get up and do something. Other ones, like _I always finish what I am working on before I start something new_ or _I like to rest and be still when I am stressed_ she marked low numbers for.

There were some that were a little harder to pick a number for. _People tell me I talk too much_ was a tricky one, because she used to hear that all the time when she was little, but at some point she had learned to rope that part of herself in. Talking got her in trouble most of the time, so she taught herself to stay quiet instead, and save her talking for Jemma. She messed up sometimes, and there were times where she couldn’t help but blurt something out, especially if no one else was saying anything, but years of time outs and detentions for being disruptive and of getting in trouble for accidentally admitting things she should have kept quiet about had honed her ability to keep her mouth shut.

Eventually, though, she managed to pick a number for every question on the quiz, and she clicked the DONE button with a satisfied grin. If more of her quizzes were on computers like this, maybe she wouldn’t hate taking them quite as much.

“All finished?” Dr. Garner asked, once he heard the ping of the computer. Skye nodded. “Excellent. Great work, Skye. Let’s go back into my office, shall we? I have a few more things for us to work on.”

He had her do some things with reading next, which were all pretty much the same as what Mrs. Hinton had done with her. Sounding out words, spelling things, reading little paragraphs about a boy and his lost dog. Those were much harder than the computer quiz had been, and she was feeling cooped up and cranky by the time she finished those. She didn’t like reading at the best of times, but reading out loud and under pressure, while Dr. Garner and May were listening, put her that much more on edge. Luckily, they both seemed to be able to tell that she was reaching the end of her patience and ability to stay cooperative.

“Well, I think that’s more than enough assessment for one session,” Dr. Garner said in a chipper tone, once Skye had reached the end of the story and the boy and his dog had been reunited. The story had been annoyingly earnest, and Skye couldn’t help the sour voice in the back of her mind that grouched a wish for an ending where Spot had stayed with the pack of alley cats instead of going home to dopey old Billy. “Really great job, Skye. Thank you for your hard work.”

“Are we done?” Skye sulked. She caught a pointed glance from May and straightened up a little in her chair. “Sorry. I meant, is that the last thing we’re doing today?” It was hard to remember to be polite when she was feeling so worn out.

“I think so. Your time’s almost up, so unless there’s anything else you’d like to talk about—”

“No,” Skye said quickly.

“—or questions you’d like to ask me,” Dr. Garner continued. “Then I think you can go back to the waiting room.”

Skye didn’t hesitate to stand up, and she was already at the door before May had even had a chance to say goodbye to Dr. Garner.

“Melinda, I’ll be out to collect Phil and Jemma in just a moment, if you’ll let him know?”

“I will.”

“I’ll meet with them, then you and Bobbi, and then I’d like to speak with you and Phil together at the end, if that’s all right.”

“That will work,” May said.

“I’ll be sure to say goodbye before you leave, Skye,” Dr. Garner called as she started edging herself out of the door. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she told him reflexively. It wasn’t a total lie. He had at least been nice – nicer than any other doctor she had ever had. And it wasn’t his fault that she was jumbled up enough to need all those tests. That was all on her. She just wanted to be done and to leave and to not have to think so hard about all the things that made her different from everybody else. There was at least one good thing, though, she thought to herself as she and May traipsed back to the waiting room. All her school tests had taken so long there wasn’t any time to talk about her feelings or her parents or the things that had been racing through her head the day she’d run away and May had first suggested seeing a doctor. That was definitely a plus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! :) It's been quite a while, and I apologize for that. I'm not entirely sure what happened, just that things got busy and time got the better of me. Hopefully the next couple of updates will come a little more quickly :) 
> 
> I know we've had chapters somewhat like this one before, where Skye goes through these kind of evaluation processes, but I thought it was important to show just how long and repetitive this kind of process can be. I hope you still like the chapter and found it interesting, despite us retreading some familiar territory! Hopefully you're all well - I'm always so grateful to y'all for reading :)


	57. In Session (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for ableism, brief mention of abuse

The list of things to do on a normal Saturday morning at Phil and May’s house typically consisted of the following in Jemma’s experience: 1. Wake up. 2. Dress. 3. Brush teeth. 4. Go downstairs. 5. Eat breakfast. 6. Watch the Avengers on TV with Phil. 7. Variable. Some Saturdays they had errands to run, like the day they had to go shopping for coats, and others were slower, filled with board games, time for reading, or working on what Phil liked to call “little projects” around the house. It seemed to Jemma that Phil almost always had some small task to tinker with on Saturdays. Once it was changing the oil in his car. Another time it was fixing the leaky faucet in his and May’s bathroom. A third time still it was putting a fresh coat of paint on the kitchen chairs. He never _made_ them do the projects, the way a different foster father might have assigned tasks for a weekend, but he always let them help if they wanted to.

Skye had been fascinated by all of the parts and pieces under the hood of the car, and had grinned ear to ear when all of the old oil spewed out from the car and into the battered pie tin Phil had slid underneath. Bobbi had surprised them all by being rather handy with the basin wrench, and Phil had let her tinker with more than just the faucet after seeing her knack for it. Jemma liked to watch, but the tools always felt clumsy in her hands, and she wasn’t strong enough to twist the different bolts and caps and nuts that most of the little projects involved. Chair painting had been more her speed, though, and she had been meticulous in her brushwork, ensuring an even coat with no noticeable streaks or blemishes on every chair.

This Saturday wasn’t a normal Saturday. Because of the nature of the variable being introduced in step 7, there was no time to do step 6, and it was unlikely that they would have time for any little projects later on in the day, either. Not that she minded, exactly. She had known this Saturday was coming, and May and Phil had explained what to expect, so she’d had time to write a new mental list for this particular Saturday. 1. Wake up. 2. Dress. 3. Brush teeth. 4. Go downstairs. 5. Eat breakfast. She hadn’t been all that successful with step 5 that morning, but that was okay. Nerves often affected appetite. 6. Gather things to leave. 7. Get in the car. 8. Go to the office of Dr. Andrew Garner. 9. Wait. 10… well, she wasn’t exactly sure what to put on 10.

She knew plenty about psychiatry, of course. She had been taken to speak with psychiatrists before, plus one psychologist and one behavioral therapist. And she had read countless books on the subject, devouring texts on brain chemistry, neurobiology, developmental psychology, and the like. So, if it was a matter of basing her number 10 slot on past experiences and learned information, then she should have all the data she needed. 10 would likely be a stiff conversation in which she said nothing and her foster parent, frazzled and frustrated, listed off all the things she did that were wrong, or odd, or bad, bad, bad, while the doctor took notes. Then, when information had been gathered, the doctor would start to coach her on ways to act that didn’t bother the people around her so much. The doctor would insist on eye contact, or refuse to let her sit silently, or force her to quiet her hands. When she did as she was told, the doctor would be happy. If she couldn’t – if she didn’t want to or if doing it made everything inside of her feel wrong and writhing or if she simply couldn’t force her body to obey – then the doctor would be unhappy. When the doctor wasn’t happy, her foster parents got bad reports about how difficult Jemma was being, and then she usually got in trouble at home. Trouble was bad, because she was bad, and trouble meant something was about to hurt. Maybe an external pain, like a punishment, or maybe just an internal one, like the on-fire feeling she got in her hands when she couldn’t tap or the sickening feeling planted in her stomach by the knowledge that she couldn’t act the way other people wanted her to.

She hesitated to slot that prediction into the number 10 spot, though. Partially because she was hoping against hope that things might go differently, and partially because of May and Phil. They had been so different in so many ways, and they had a reassuring confidence that seeing Dr. Andrew Garner would be helpful for _her_ , not just helpful for _them_. They trusted Dr. Garner, and as scary as it was to admit, Jemma trusted them. She had shown them the parts of herself that usually made other foster parents realize she wasn’t the person they’d expected, she wasn’t the child they’d agreed to let into their home, and instead of punishing her or sending her away before she became too much to handle, they’d been kind. They’d been quiet and calm and patient and understanding. They’d been soft and slow and steady. They liked it when she talked to them about the things that mattered to her and they understood her when she had to talk in ways that her voice alone couldn’t capture. And above all, they’d let her stay. In fact, as far as she could tell, they _wanted_ her to stay. No one had ever _wanted_ her to stay before. No one besides her parents, who were gone, and Skye, who had no more say in the matter about whether Jemma stayed or went than Jemma herself did.

So number 10 stayed blank, awaiting more data to be filled in properly. It wasn’t exactly the most satisfying way to complete her list, but it was the best she could do. Mark down the potential possibilities in pencil, a pair of hypotheses to be tested, and hold the space for the results of this new, unknown experiment. Somehow the scientific method made the vast variables held by the morning ahead of them feel less daunting.

Dr. Garner’s office was nice – the wood on the arm of her chair in the waiting room had a good density for tapping – and Dr. Garner himself seemed nice as well. He spoke calmly and with a sturdy voice – deep, but still gentle. The sound wasn’t too bad, as far as new sounds went. And he didn’t insist on meeting her eyes in the waiting room or shaking everyone’s hand, which she took as positive signs. She wasn’t fond of touching people she had just met, and handshakes were one of her least favorite unspoken rules of polite society.

Skye had gone first. Part of Jemma was surprised, because she knew how nervous seeing a doctor made Skye. Skye had been subjected to just as many hostile doctors as she had, and Jemma could practically feel the anxious energy radiating off of Skye’s body throughout the morning. The other part of Jemma hadn’t been surprised at all. Putting on a brave face was one of the things Skye was best at, and Jemma knew she probably wanted to pretend everything was fine. That way she could prove to Jemma and Bobbi that she wasn’t a coward in the face of something that spooked them all in different ways and that they needn’t be either. She could also convince Phil and May that she wasn’t as in need of help as they might assume that way, and she could camouflage the vulnerable gaps in her rough-and-tumble, devil-may-care exterior that she worked so hard to cultivate.

That was something Skye and Bobbi had in common, Jemma was starting to understand. They both hid themselves away, built up thick walls of tough nonchalance that masked the parts of themselves they didn’t want other people to see. It did a good job of hiding their insecurities, their fears, their weakness – at least, most of the time. But it also did a good job of hiding other things, too. Their softness, their tenderness. Skye was gentle and careful with Jemma in a way she wasn’t around other people, especially grownups. Bobbi was protective and attentive, but as far as Jemma could tell, not many people saw that part of her.

Jemma had never been good at concealing herself like that. She couldn’t just flip a switch and turn off the things about herself that other people tended not to like. And she had never really wanted to, so she hadn’t ever really tried. She didn’t know where to start, to be honest. How was one supposed to decide which parts to peel away, which facets to polish and put on display, which pieces to break off and tuck into lockboxes deep inside? And why? For what? Curating yourself for other people felt an awful lot like a lie to Jemma, and not just a lie to the people around you – a lie to yourself. There was no use in acting like she wasn’t Jemma, because she _was_ Jemma, and Jemma tapped her fingers and counted the stars and wanted to understand everything there was to know about the world and how it worked. A girl who looked like Jemma but who didn’t act or think like Jemma – didn’t need to feel patterns on her skin or didn’t see the universe as a shifting set of rules waiting to be deciphered – couldn’t possibly be the real Jemma. And if she wasn’t herself, who on earth was she supposed to be?

* * *

When Skye came back from her time with Dr. Garner, everything about her looked and felt tense. Her shoulders were rigid in that way that made Jemma think she bore the weight of the actual sky on them, and her jaw was set in stubborn defiance. Something hot flared up in Jemma’s stomach and the muscles in her arms tightened, urging her to speed up the tempo of her tap from _1-2-3-4_ directly to _1-2-1-2-1-2._ Without thinking much of it, she started to lilt back and forth slightly in her chair, a small, subtle rock that matched the taps and reminded her that she wasn’t trapped here, as much as Skye looked like she wanted nothing more than to escape.

“Andrew said he’d be out in a minute for you and Jemma,” May said quietly to Phil as she took her seat. Her eyes never left Skye, though, and Jemma was simultaneously worried for Skye (her specialty) and comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one.

“Okay, sounds good,” Phil smiled. “Do you think you’ll be ready to go back in a minute, Jemma?” he asked her. Jemma paused, tapped seven times – a prime number; a culturally significant number; a lucky number, if you believed in that sort of thing, which Jemma didn’t, but still – and nodded. “Great.”

They didn’t have to wait long for Dr. Garner to reappear. He didn’t wear any of the unease or unhappiness that May and Skye had emerged from the office with, and in fact looked just the same as he had the first time.

“Jemma, are you ready?” he asked. A small smile crinkled the corners of his mouth, but that didn’t do much to settle the nerves in her fingers or slow the rapid thumping of her heartrate. Still, she knew that this was what she was supposed to do – it was step number 10, after all, and she needed data for her experiment. She nodded and rose to her feet, and Phil checked that she still wanted him with her before doing the same.

Once they had followed Dr. Garner back to his office and settled themselves (Dr. Garner in a chair, Phil and Jemma on the couch), Dr. Garner took out a folder and a pad of paper and poised himself to begin.

“Well, Jemma, first let me say I’m very pleased to meet you. Mrs. Hinton spoke very highly of you in the referral she sent to my office, and Skye told me a little bit about how important you are to her.”

Jemma felt her cheeks grow warm with bashfulness, but she didn’t lift her eyes from the carpet, where she tracked the little lines that crisscrossed over and back on themselves, creating tiny squares in the material. She wanted very badly to count the squares in front of her, but she wasn’t sure Dr. Garner would appreciate that, so she stuck with tapping _1-2-3_ discreetly on her thigh.

“I usually start with a few questions,” Dr. Garner continued, “but I actually want to check with you about something first before we start with that. Okay?”

She nodded. She hadn’t meant to, but her eyes had already scanned over the area of carpet in front of her, and she knew that the space was twelve squares long and wide, so there had to be 144 squares at her feet. There were likely more in the places she couldn’t see at the moment. Before she could stop herself, she approximated that there were probably at least three other sections of carpet unseen of a similar size, meaning there had to be close to 576 squares across the whole room. 576 was an unusual number, 24 squared, the square root of 331,776. 576 seconds was 9 minutes and 36 seconds, which meant that if each square on the floor was a second of her time with Dr. Garner, she would have to get through 6 rooms worth of squares before her time was up.

“Great,” said Dr. Garner. Jemma blinked hard, reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to be counting or doing math right now. She was supposed to be minding Dr. Garner. She gave herself three quick, hard taps to remember to _stay-fo-cused._ “I wanted to check and see how you felt about answering questions from me. That’s usually how I spend my time with patients – I ask questions and then the person who is working with me answers them. But if that’s something you’re not comfortable with, there are other ways we can spend our time.”

“Questions are okay,” she murmured. She wished Skye was here. Skye was always good at answering questions for her, at knowing what Jemma wanted to say and putting it into words. But Phil was here, and Dr. Garner didn’t make her feel quite as nervous as some of the other specialists, so she figured she ought to at least give it a try his way. She twisted her tapping hand up under her leg, so Dr. Garner wouldn’t think she was being distracted or not paying attention.

“Okay,” Dr. Garner said. She wasn’t looking at his face, but his voice sounded breezy. “We’ll start that way, and if we need to change it up or take a break, you let me or Phil know, all right?” She nodded again. “The first question I like to start with is why. As in, why did you decide to come and see me today?”

“Mrs. Hinton thought it might be helpful to look into a diagnosis,” Jemma said softly, after a deep breath. “There are accommodations I can get at school if I’m autistic, like her daughter. Things that are supposed to help me.”

“And do agree with her? That it might be helpful?”

“I suppose.” Jemma thought for a minute. “I like to know things. I like to be sure, and I like to learn. So if I am autistic, then I can do research and understand what that means about me.”

“A scientific approach,” Dr. Garner said thoughtfully. She heard the sound of his pen scratching across the pad of paper. Against her will, she felt the muscles in her arm tighten. She wished she hadn’t forced herself to stop tapping.

“I like science. Astronomy and biology. Zoology, too.” Listing things she liked helped a little. She liked lists.

“Jemma knows all kinds of things about science,” Phil glowed beside her. “She’s got a real knack for it.” Jemma blushed, leaned over slightly so that her shoulder pressed lightly into Phil’s arm as a way of thanking him for the compliment. When she risked a quick glance up at him, he was beaming down at her, and the tightness in her arm slackened off somewhat.

“I’ll have to have you give me a lesson sometime.” Dr. Garner sounded impressed. “I went to medical school, so I know a few things about biology, but I’m afraid my astronomy and zoology are a little rusty. Like, I can never remember the difference between a meteor, a meteoroid, and a meteorite.”

“A meteoroid is a small bit of comet or asteroid when it’s out in space,” Jemma said shyly. “Once it enters the atmosphere it becomes a meteor. If it reaches earth it becomes a meteorite.”

“I knew you could help me out,” Dr. Garner chuckled. “I’m wondering if I can return the favor. You told me you came to gain a better understanding of yourself, and I’d like to help with that. That’s a goal that I set with a lot of my patients, actually. Does that sound like a good goal for us today?”

Jemma nodded. She squirmed a little, clenching and unclenching her fingers out of sight, trying to keep the urge to tap at bay. The prospect of uncovering new knowledge was tantalizing, to be sure, but they were now coming upon the part of the process that felt the most uncertain to her, the most unpredictable. She couldn’t help but feel nerves seize up inside of her stomach. She glanced back down at the carpet, counting quickly. Still twelve by twelve, still 144 squares. Numbers were certain, math was predictable. Twelve squared would always be 144, no matter what variables the universe tossed at her, no matter the tumult inside of her or the helter-skelter around her.

“All right then, let’s get started, shall we? I’d like you to tell me what a good day looks like to you, Jemma. Describe to me what happens on a good day for you.”

She thought for a while, considering how much detail she wanted to go into. Eventually, she settled on as full a disclosure as possible, reasoning that the best way for Dr. Garner to provide his insight was if he was armed with all the facts. He might be a stranger, but he was still a man of science, and there was something reassuring about the way he walked her through the steps of his process. It was like he understood how much easier it was to think about things if they were broken down into smaller, more manageable pieces that she could assemble later.

Jemma described her daily list – her steps for getting up and getting ready for school. She made sure to include all the important details she could think of, like the cereal texture being just right and not having to add addendums for worrying about things (or Skye) or looking for misplaced items. She told him about meeting Fitz before school, and about going to her classes.

“I learn new things on good days,” she explained, when Dr. Garner asked for clarification on school. “The best days, really. Those don’t happen as much. A day can still be good even if don’t learn something new, though, like if we talk about interesting things in science or I get all my math problems right.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Yes,” she blushed. “Once you understand the theory behind a mathematical principle, it’s hard to find the wrong answer, unless you’re careless with the numbers. The numbers are never wrong, it’s just human error sometimes.”

“Would you consider yourself a careless person, or a careful one?” he wondered.

“Careful,” Jemma decided, after a moment of deliberation. “I don’t like to rush, and I don’t like to make mistakes. It’s better to be right than fast, I think. Other people are different, I suppose. Skye likes to be fast and to try lots of different things until she gets it right. But I like to think about my choices and then pick the right one, so I only have to do things once.”

“What do you do if you aren’t sure which choice is the right one?” Dr. Garner asked.

Jemma opened her mouth to speak, then realized she wasn’t sure of her answer. She had never thought to describe the paralyzing fretfulness of indecision out loud before, or really even to put a name to it at all, beyond just the overwhelming feeling of being stuck.

“I… I don’t do anything, maybe. If there’s not a right choice, then there’s nowhere to move that doesn’t have risk. It’s… it’s zugzwang.”

“Zug…?”

“Zugzwang. In chess, when there are no moves you can make to improve your position. Anything you do will only make things worse.”

“So what do you do then?” His eyebrows knit together in curiosity. Jemma felt like her arm had suddenly gotten three times heavier than normal, aching with the need to tap. He didn’t understand her, didn’t like what she was saying. He was going to tell Phil that she wasn’t behaving correctly, and Phil would be upset with her. She squeezed her hand shut, pressing her thumb against her fingers. She didn’t know how to explain herself.

“I just don’t. It’s better to stay still than to step into something bad. I don’t move. I can’t. I wait until something else happens. Someone else decides or the situation changes.” The universe was in constant motion, nothing was ever truly fixed in a permanent place. Usually if she was stuck, she could just wait long enough for someone like Skye make a decision for the both of them, or for the world to crumble and reassemble itself around her. As unpleasant as it was to wait for bad situations to pass, they always did. She waited long enough to finally be able to leave the Williams’ house, and the Walkers’. She waited for bullies to tire of her, for teachers to grow impatient and just place her in whichever class they wanted her in, for social workers to pluck her up, cart her here and there. When there was no good move for her to make, Jemma had no problem in letting the world move around her instead.

“How does that make you feel?” Dr. Garner wanted to know. “To let other people have control like that? To leave your fate in the hands of those around you?”

Jemma’s face felt hot, and it wasn’t just her arm that hurt now; her shoulder and her sternum and her stomach were all tight and tense. She didn’t know how it made her feel. Bad, maybe, but it didn’t really matter. Other people would always have control no matter how she felt about it. She fought hard to be in control of herself as much as possible, but she had long since accepted that virtually everything beyond her own self (and sometimes even including her own self – her body, her mind) was at the mercy of forces far greater than herself. St. Agnes. Social Services. The entire cosmos.

Unable to stave off the feeling any longer, Jemma swallowed her trepidation and relented, slipping her hand back out to her thigh and tapping faintly. _1-1-1-1._ The quick beat loosened her muscles and made her chest unlatch. She took a deep breath, deeper than she’d been able to manage a moment ago. Dr. Garner must have noticed, because he made an apologetic sound.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push or upset you. You can ignore that last question, by all means. I should probably confess to you that I’m a curious man. I ask a lot of questions – too many, sometimes. You can always ignore the questions that you don’t want to answer, Jemma. You’re allowed to choose when you want to talk and when you don’t. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear earlier.”

“It’s okay,” Jemma murmured reflexively. “Maybe we should go to the next question, though.”

“We can do that,” Dr. Garner said. “I was wondering if you could tell a little bit about what a bad day looks like for you.”

Several minutes passed as Jemma tapped and thought about how exactly to answer Dr. Garner’s question. To his credit, he waited patiently for her and didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that it was taking her a long time to figure out what she wanted to say.

“When low mass stars die,” she finally said, “they expand first. A star like our sun will turn from a yellow dwarf into a red giant as its dying. It gets big and hot and unstable and it feels like everything is expanding faster than you can hold onto. Eventually the red giant can’t sustain itself anymore, so it collapses in on itself and makes a white dwarf. The weight and the pressure become too much, and the star runs out of fuel, so there’s nothing left to do but fall inward.”

“And that’s how it feels on a bad day?”

Jemma nodded timorously. “Something bad happens. And I get… out of sorts. Everything gets bad and… out of control… until there’s nothing left to do but…” she trailed off. It bothered her that she didn’t have the language to describe the sensation properly. Frustrated, she pulled her hands into her lap, locked and unlocked her fingers. She wasn’t like Skye. When Skye got upset, she veered close to a supernova, the way a massive star ended its life. A blinding explosion of light and heat that eventually all got sucked up into a black hole, never to be seen again. Jemma was different. She got nervous and things got tight and hot as she expanded, but she never exploded. She imploded, and she left a dim white dwarf in her wake, a trace of her self, her problems, her light still visible as it cooled and shrank towards nothingness. 

“You said something bad happens that triggers the… star process. Something bad like what?” Dr. Garner asked.

“Like when Skye was gone. I was worried about her, and I didn’t want to get in trouble, or get her in trouble, and my principal… reminded me of some people I don’t like. He was loud and sharp, and I got upset. Or in the store our first weekend here. There was too much going on and too much new and different and I couldn’t get settled.”

“That sounds like it could be challenging.”

Jemma nodded, but didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t sure she had done a very good job answering Dr. Garner’s question, but she didn’t really have anything else to say. There was no other way she could think to describe herself, but Dr. Garner didn’t seem to be fishing for more. That was a relief, at least.

“Unless there’s anything else you’d like to talk about at the moment, Jemma, I was thinking we might move onto something else. Something with a little less conversation,” Dr. Garner smiled and waited for Jemma to nod. “Great. I have an assessment that I was hoping you could fill out for me. Not like a test – there’s no grade – but something to get a sense of the way you navigate the world and what things look and feel like to you on a day-to-day basis. I have a version you can take with pencil and paper, or a version on the computer, whichever you prefer.”

Jemma selected the pencil and paper option, and spent the next twenty or so minutes picking her way through a variety of questions. A few were open-ended, but most asked her to rate the accuracy of various statements on a sliding scale. It was a little difficult to settle on a number for some, but Jemma appreciated the familiarity of being quizzed, the rhythm of going from question to question and marking down her answers, the stillness in the room as Phil and Dr. Garner sat and let her focus.

Eventually she reached the end ( _It is important to me that everyone follow the same rules._ Rating: 9. There were a few times were different people needed a different set of rules, or where someone, like Skye, might break a rule for a good reason, so it wasn’t a true 10, but definitely still a high number for her…) and set down her pencil.

“Very nice work, thank you, Jemma,” Dr. Garner said encouragingly. “I think our time is about up. Is there anything you’d like to ask me before we end?”

Jemma hesitated, not sure if she should ask the question that had been pestering the back of her mind for some time. She glanced briefly up at Dr. Garner and decided that he might not get upset with her. And if he did, they were about finished, so she could just leave right away. “Where did you go to medical school?”

Dr. Garner looked a little surprised by the question, but he chuckled good-naturedly once he had processed her request for information. “I went to the University of Wisconsin School of Medicine. I had done my undergraduate work in psychology at UW as well, so I was happy to continue studying there. I worked at a larger practice near Madison for a few years before deciding to strike out on my own a little closer to where I grew up.”

“Was it a good school?”

“I certainly thought so,” Dr. Garner smiled. “I enjoyed my time there and learned a lot. Why do you ask? Thinking about studying to be a doctor someday?”

“Maybe,” Jemma said shyly, ducking her head and allowing a bashful smile to peek through. “I think it would be interesting to study medicine. Or biochemistry. Or astronomy.”

“All very good choices,” Dr. Garner agreed.

“You know, Dr. Jemma Simmons has a nice ring to it,” grinned Phil. “I can see you changing the world one day, if you wanted to.”

Jemma blushed furiously, but the smile on her face didn’t dissipate in the least.

* * *

_Why was she here?_ Bobbi stared hard at the face of Dr. Andrew Garner, _open_ and _waiting_ for her to answer his first question. _Why was she here? Why_ was _she here?_ Bobbi didn’t have the faintest clue what foolish notion had possessed her a few weeks ago when she’d agreed to come. Maybe it had been Skye’s generosity, or the fact that she had been so off-kilter from the freak-out she’d had at the soccer game that she’d agreed without realizing the full implications of her decision. She was regretting it now. Sitting here, in Dr. Garner’s office, May across from her on the couch, Dr. Garner to her right in his chair, all of them sitting and waiting, _waiting_ for her to have an answer. Why was she here? She didn’t want to be. But maybe she needed to be.

Her hands twitched a little, and she flexed them slightly to stave off the longing for her batons. She’d been nervous enough to bring them in the car with her, but she wasn’t about to take them straight into a psychologist’s office. That would have been like asking Dr. Garner to slap a “whack-o” stickynote right on her forehead. What 15-year-old kid uses big wooden sticks like a security blanket?

“Bobbi?” That was May. Bobbi cut her eyes over and took in May’s stoic face. May was good at keeping her expression blank, hard to read. Bobbi envied her talent. “Did you hear what Dr. Garner asked you?”

“Yeah.” Bobbi managed to wrestle the word from her mouth. It came out sounding gruffer than she’d meant it to, but there was no taking it back now. “Sorry, um…”

“It’s okay, there’s no rush,” Dr. Garner said. “It’s also okay if you don’t have an answer. Like I said, that’s just a place I usually like to start.”

“I guess…” Bobbi trailed off. She knew she needed to say something. There was no point in coming if she wasn’t going to talk, but it was so hard to focus and so hard to figure out what exactly she was supposed to say. “I guess I’m here because of some of the stuff that’s happened to me. I’m not… handling it very well.”

“How do you mean?”

Bobbi took a sharp breath, squeezed her hands into fists. Just say what she told May and Phil. Just start there. “I can usually get a grip. Keep stuff inside and deal with it on my own, but… I don’t know, after the fight at the soccer game, I just wasn’t… I couldn’t stop myself from freaking out. Like, I couldn’t breathe and I kept repeating stuff, which, I mean, I do in my head all the time, but I don’t usually say it out loud. But I couldn’t help it, it just slipped out. And I… I have trouble with my dad.” She explained briefly about how she heard his voice ringing in her ears, even when he wasn’t around to shout at her anymore. About how, even though she knew it wasn’t real, it still _felt_ real, like he was still right there in front of her, about to take a swing. Dr. Garner said nothing as she spoke. He nodded along, like he was tracking what she was saying, and took a few notes, but otherwise just listened.

“So would you say, then, that one of the reasons you decided to come see me was to find a different way of ‘handling’ the ways your body and your mind react to stressful situations, like the fight at the soccer game?” he finally asked, once it was clear she had finished.

“I guess so, yeah,” Bobbi agreed. Her neck felt a little warm, and she turned her attention to the woven bits of Velcro crisscrossing back and forth on her knee brace. Dr. Gambhir had said at her last appointment that she might be able to take it off before too long. Maybe another week or two. The thought both excited and daunted her, and focusing on her knee somehow made it easier for her next words to come. “I just don’t want to be freaking out over stuff like that anymore. It’s not like I can just start twirling or repeating stuff out loud any time I get upset. So I need to get better at keeping stuff in check until I can be alone and deal with it on my own.”

Dr. Garner made a thoughtful noise, marked a couple things on his notepad. “Twirling and repeating. Are those some of your current strategies for staying calm?” _Calm._ She was a little proud of herself for staying as calm as she was, despite how uncomfortable the whole situation made her. Still, she wasn’t sure she’d use the same language that Dr. Garner was suggesting.

Bobbi shrugged. “I mean, it’s not strategic or anything. Those are just things that I’ve done since I was a kid. Things that make me feel… grounded, I guess. Like, twirling my batons gives me something to focus on and helps my muscles relax. The repeating… I don’t know, I can’t remember why I started. I guess I just liked the way words felt and sounded, or it would help me process what I was hearing. It used to drive my parents crazy, though, so I learned to just think the words instead of saying them.”

“Do you have a preference?” Dr. Garner asked. “That is, if there were no repercussions, would you choose to repeat audibly, or do you find that internal repetition works just as well?”

Bobbi thought for a minute. “Internal’s fine, I guess. I’ve gotten used to it, and it’s easier to do without people noticing. Some people are fine about it, like my friends at school, but other people… the less different you are, the better.”

“It sounds like you have good friends,” Dr. Garner smiled.

“Yeah,” Bobbi agreed. The corners of her mouth poked up a little at the memory of how cool Natasha, Mack, and Clint had been when she tried to explain herself to them. “My friend Mack said I was like a mockingbird. I liked that.”

“‘ _Mimicking and elaborating, he sings with humor and bravado, so I have to wait a long time for the softer voice of his own life to come through_ ,’” Dr. Garner recited. Bobbi raised an eyebrow at him, confused, and he chuckled. “It’s a line from a poem about the mockingbird. One of my favorites. You should look it up sometime. It speaks to how difficult it can be to share your true voice, your true self with the world, especially when you’ve masked it for a long time.” _Masked. Masked. Masked._

Bobbi knew something about that. She shifted uneasily in her seat. _Masking. Hiding_. She was good at those things, as much as she wished she wasn’t, didn’t have to be. She was getting better at allowing glimpses of herself to see the light of day, but it was still so hard to let her guard down, to find the right people to trust. She cut her eyes over to May for the briefest of moments, took in the faint smile and steady eyes on her face. A _calm face_. Maybe even a _proud face_. She liked it when May looked at her with pride in her eyes, like when Bobbi had walked on her own for the for the first time. Like she might be doing now.

They talked for a while longer, Dr. Garner giving her suggestions to continue using her old tricks to help keep herself even-keeled, but to be more intentional about them.

“Try not to think of them as urges you have to fight, but rather as tools you get to use to ground yourself,” he offered. “You can modify them as needed to fit a given situation, which it sounds like you already have some experience in, but I want you to see what it feels like if you actively seek out those techniques when you feel yourself getting stressed instead of delaying your use of them until you give in.”

He gave her some tips for how to measure her breathing, some of which reminded her of some of her old breathing exercises she learned ages ago for soccer – how to maximize the air coming in and sustain her breath through exertion – and a new thing to try if she was having trouble distinguishing the lines between reality and memory when they blurred.

“Four things you can see, three things you can touch, two things you can hear, and one thing you can taste or smell,” he said. “Use your senses and focus on what’s around you to help anchor yourself in the present world. Even if it doesn’t fully reorient you to where you need to be, it can at least break the feedback loop of your memory long enough for you to get help or get somewhere safe while you process what you’re thinking and feeling.”

It sounded like a tall order to Bobbi, but she didn’t want to admit that to Dr. Garner, not after he’d been so nice and patient. He asked her a few more questions about her day-to-day life, about what was different between her old home and her new one, whether she liked where she was now. That question made Bobbi blush, but she found herself nodding and answering in the affirmative. She did like where she was now. She liked pretty much everything there was to like about May and Phil’s, even in spite of the fact that she knew it wasn’t a long-term solution and she shouldn’t be letting herself get so attached.

She had told Miss Hand at their last check-in that she was happy where she was, and Miss Hand had seemed pleased by that information. She had told Bobbi that she would do her best to keep things from changing for as long as “circumstances allowed,” which Bobbi took as a good sign.

“Well, Bobbi,” Dr. Garner said, after they had exhausted their final topic of conversation, “I think we’re nearly at the end of our time. Is there anything else I can do for you before we finish? Any other questions I can answer?”

“No. Thank you,” Bobbi shook her head and eased herself to her feet. Walking was getting easier every day, but getting in and out of chairs was still tricky sometimes.

“Thank _you_ ,” Dr. Garner reiterated. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too.”

Skye and Jemma looked up at her expectantly as she and May came back into the waiting room. Bobbi crooked a half-smile their way to let them know that things had been okay. And they had been. Really, for all the worrying she had done, all the nerves that had grated on her, Dr. Garner was a pretty okay guy. He hadn’t acted like she was weird, or like it was messed up of her to have trouble with her memories or her nerves. He hadn’t pushed her too hard to talk about her dad, either, which she certainly appreciated. She still wasn’t sold on some of his suggestions, but she was willing to at least give them a shot, and she definitely wanted to check out that poem. There might be more to being a mockingbird than she had once realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Bobbi's turn! Hope I did them justice here :) The poem referenced is "The Mockingbird" by Mary Oliver. I do not own the poem, although like Dr. Garner, it is one of my favorites :) A professor of mine showed it to me ages ago and ever since it'll just pop into my head from time to time! I'd highly recommend giving it a read, especially since I couldn't just put the whole thing in the chapter haha. 
> 
> Thanks for being here :) The fact that you all have stuck around for 57 chapters makes my heart full <3 Thank you.


	58. Gaps

It was incredible to her how little Andrew had changed over the years. He was a little older, a little more care-worn, but that was true of all of them – Andrew, Phil, and Melinda herself certainly. But his eyes were the same, deep and dark and patient, and he still had that smile that made you feel like he was inviting you to share in a warm secret with him. It was things like that made him so easy to talk to, so easy to trust, such a good friend. He had been one of her biggest sounding boards back when they were young and she was hardheaded and in need of a little softening. She had other friends, of course, ones who were fun to be around, ones who challenged her and helped her push herself, but she had forgotten how well Andrew, Phil, and herself all complimented each other – the thinker, the feeler, and the doer. She chided herself for letting the years get the better of them, for letting her friendship with Andrew slip into the territory of ‘fond memory.’ Luckily, it seemed as though life had thrown her a second chance to bring the man she’d once considered her best friend back into their lives.

“Well,” Andrew said cheerily, as they settled themselves back into chairs in his office, “I’ll start by saying you two have got some really great kids out there.”

“We certainly think so,” Phil beamed. “I don’t think either one of us could have predicted where we are now, but we wouldn’t go back to the way things were for the world.” May smiled and took his hand, gave it a light squeeze. Not surprisingly, he had managed to capture her feelings just right. He was always so good with words.

“I’m also really honored that you trusted me with them,” Andrew continued. “It can’t be easy to be new parents, especially to kids who already come with unique backgrounds and experiences. I’m excited to continue working with each of them, if that’s something you and your family decides you’d like to pursue further.”

“No complaints so far,” said May kindly.

“I like to speak with the parents separately at the end of a session, just to get a sense of where you are and how you’re feeling about the process. Also to give you a few of my observations, since we’re still in the early stages of everything,” Andrew explained. “You’re of course welcome to share what we discuss with the girls, although it’s unlikely that I’ll tell you anything I won’t be saying to the girls in person at some point. I’m not fond of saying one thing to a patient and then something else entirely to the parent. The pacing is really all that changes.”

“That sounds good,” nodded Phil. “We’re pretty new to all of this, so we’re happy to take your lead.”

“Since I met her first, I’ll start with Skye,” Andrew said, chuckling. “She’s quite the firecracker, isn’t she?”

May cracked a smile. “Very much so. I know she was nervous to come today, so that may have had something to do with the way she was acting.”

“Which is totally reasonable,” Andrew assured them. “I know most kids aren’t banging on the door to get into my office, especially if they’ve been sent by a school or had history quite like Skye’s. I saw the records from her previous attempts at therapy that her social worker sent over. I was honestly expecting a little more hostility from her, given how quick to condemn her previous doctors had been.”

“She’s a good kid,” Phil said. “Really good. Just misunderstood. And sometimes a little too impulsive for her own good.”

“And I’d like to help with that,” Andrew smiled. “Both the impulsivity and being misunderstood. I suspect that the two might go hand in hand, as a matter of fact.”

“How do you mean?” May asked.

“Well, having only known Skye an hour, this is still an educated guess, but I would wager that a lot of people – a lot of adults, in particular – have a hard time understanding her impulsivity, her energy, her outbursts. Most adults have learned to curb that kind of behavior in themselves, and they forget how immediate and how intense everything feels when you’re Skye’s age. So they misunderstand her, which makes her feel isolated and upset. Then, because she’s experiencing these intense feelings and doesn’t have a sense of connection to anyone who can help her process or cool down, she acts impulsively again, trying to make things right or seek out a connection that she’s missing. It’s a cycle that leads to people like her teachers or her previous doctors labeling her as defiant or in need of strong discipline, which I personally don’t believe is doing her much good. It’s a common thing I see in my patients with ADHD.”

“So you think Skye has ADHD?” Phil wanted to know.

“I hesitate to make an official diagnosis after only one session, but based on the notes I got from Polly over the school, the observation forms I had you fill out for me ahead of time, and the brief time I spent with Skye today, I’d say it’s a strong possibility. The assessment I had her take today will give me a pretty good baseline to continue to assess from, and just looking briefly at the numbers I pulled from that, a lot of the key indicators are there,” Andrew explained. “Difficulty with focus, particularly on tasks that aren’t of interest seems to be a challenge, managing distractions, emotional regulation and thinking ahead to the consequences before beginning an action – all of those are things that are common points of struggle for people with ADHD, and, from what I’ve gathered, common points of struggle for Skye. That’s not to say that she can’t do any of those things, of course, just that it takes a lot more effort and energy on her part to perform them at the same level as someone who doesn’t have ADHD.”

“So what can we do to help her?” asked May. “We know she wants to do well in school and to be more levelheaded – she’s basically told us as much. And she tries so hard to be this version of a perfect kid that she thinks people – us, maybe – want her to be, even though we’ve tried to send the message that she doesn’t have to be anything other than herself. She just beats herself up so much when things get hard.”

“Keep sending that message,” Andrew smiled. “That’s the most important thing. It’ll take some time to sink in, I’m sure, but the number one thing you can do is keep reassuring her, keep showing her that you care and that you don’t think less of her because she’s not performing at the same level as her peers. Find things that are unique to her that you can compliment and encourage, especially things that aren’t directly related to school. Show her you’re paying attention and you like what you see.”

Andrew continued: “I think you can also get the ball rolling with some accommodations at school. I know I said I’m not personally comfortable making a diagnosis after one meeting, but I am happy to sign off on whatever school forms you might need. I know that red tape can take a long time to cut through, so I’m happy to help speed that process up. If it turns out later that we decide a different diagnosis suits her better, we can change the recommendations, but for now, I think we should start somewhere with the school. At home you can break tasks into smaller pieces that are easier to process and accomplish, so that there isn’t the pressure of doing a whole large task all at once. That can help with focus, too. Keep helping her practice processing her feelings, in whatever way works for her. Some kids like to process auditorily, so talking things through helps, but others like to write things down or draw out diagrams. Whatever will help her slow down, identify her emotions, and really think through the steps of her thought process.”

“We can do that,” Phil nodded. He had pulled out a tiny notebook that May didn’t realize he brought with him, and he was taking diligent notes on Andrew’s suggestions. She smiled. Leave it to Phil to remember a notebook for this.

“There are lots of other things we can try, too, but I think we’ll just start with those few for now,” Andrew said gently. “Eventually we might reach a point where we talk about the possibility of medication, but I’d prefer to wait for a true diagnosis before we have that conversation. It’s perfectly safe, and plenty of people find it helps a lot, but there are also a number of families who prefer not to medicate if some of the other strategies are sufficient.”

“There’s the dyslexia piece, too,” May added after a beat. “Are we still waiting for more assessment to diagnose that as well?”

“No,” Andrew said. “That I think we can diagnose today. Polly’s assessment did most of the leg work on that one, my assessment was really just more of a formality. Skye is dyslexic, I’m confident in saying that. I’ll send those forms to the school today as well, see if we can’t start getting her some more support in that department.”

“Polly mentioned having extra time on tests, or having someone read the test questions out loud for Skye,” Phil said.

“I think those are some good places to start. I’m sure Polly will want to continue to monitor and assess Skye in that area, and she may recommend some work with a reading specialist to help get Skye caught up and more confident. I’ll leave that piece to her, as the educator. But I think the option to hear, rather than read, will be a big help. You noticed, I’m sure,” Andrew said, turning to May, “how quickly she jumped at the chance to have the computer read out the questions earlier today.” May nodded.

“She always seems to do better on her homework when she’s got someone to do it with,” she remarked. “Phil or Jemma, or her tutor, Natasha. Someone to talk things through and help her stay on track.”

“And those are the kinds of observations that will be helpful to continue to make,” Andrew said. “The more we can continue to learn about Skye and what works best for her, the better we can help her navigate the world.”

“And the same holds true for Jemma and Bobbi, too, I’d imagine,” Phil pointed out.

Andrew nodded. “Yes, exactly. That’s something that will be a little bit different for the two of you compared to some other families I work with. You’re still getting to know your children, learning about them. But you’re putting in the work, and that’s a crucial piece.”

“So, on the subject of Jemma,” May began. “Polly seemed to think it might be worth looking into whether or not Jemma might be autistic. Phil and I just want to do what’s best for her either way.”

“Yes, Jemma,” Andrew smiled. “Well, I’ll start by saying that it’s clear she’s very bright—”

“One of the smartest kids I’ve ever met,” Phil grinned proudly.

“—And it was also clear that being here made her extremely uncomfortable,” finished Andrew. “I’m assuming nerves were a part of that.”

“Most likely,” May said. “Meeting new people is something we’ve learned is hard for Jemma. She gets very nervous around strangers, or in new situations in general. And I know she’s had some bad experiences with therapy before.”

“I wondered about that,” Andrew said sadly. “Some of the notes from previous doctors weren’t exactly encouraging. They spoke about her resistance to some of the behavioral therapy methods they were trying to employ with her. For the record, I’m not a proponent of techniques that try to teach children to act in certain ways that, while socially acceptable, might be antithetical to how they work best or might be detrimental to their personal growth and well-being. I know I’ll need to earn Jemma’s trust, but I wanted to make that clear with the two of you up front. My priority is helping Jemma adapt the things that already work for her to be more effective and to help her feel like she has more agency in how she relates to the world.”

“That sounds great,” Phil agreed. “We’re not looking to change Jemma. We like her just the way she is, absolutely. Really we just want to know if there’s anything we should be doing to help make her life easier that we’ve missed before.”

“Well, as with Skye, I won’t commit to a diagnosis after only one meeting,” Andrew started. “But again, my initial impression is that Polly’s suggestion is more than likely correct. A lot of Jemma’s behavior could certainly be attributed to nerves or anxiety, but there were certain things that caught my attention. Avoiding eye contact, tapping as a form of stimming or self-soothing, strict adherence to routine, her encyclopedic knowledge of certain subjects that are of interest to her. All of those are pretty standard markers that we look for when starting to seek an ASD diagnosis. It’s a spectrum, of course, so what’s typical autistic behavior for one child might not appear at all in another, but those are some common ones. Her way of relating to the world through the lens of something she’s knowledgeable about and comfortable with, that struck me as a unique indicator. Oftentimes autistic people will have difficultly naming or describing the emotions they’re experiencing – alexithymia, it’s called – and it seemed to me that Jemma had a much easier time describing her feelings of worry or unease in terms of stars rather than plain emotions.”

“She talked to us about gravity one time,” May remembered. “It was after we had been to see Polly, and everyone was a little on edge. And she used gravity to explain how she and Skye felt.”

“It took us a little while at first to get a grasp of it,” Phil added, “but once we got a feel for the way Jemma uses language, most of the time what she’s communicating to us is pretty clear.”

“And that’s one of the biggest things we can aim for,” said Andrew, pleased. “Finding ways for Jemma to be understood on her own terms. Every person wants to be understood. We’re just all usually communicating in different ways. Some people speak directly, others use figures of speech. Some use art or movement. It’s all about finding ways to translate from person to person, and it sounds like you two have already made some good headway in that department.”

“Is there anything else we should be doing for Jemma right now?” Phil asked. “Anything we should get for her? I had an autistic student a few years back who wore noise-cancelling headphones a lot of the time, but Jemma hasn’t really indicated that loud noises are a problem, unless she’s… I don’t know what the right word for it is. She gets overwhelmed by things sometimes. Kind of shuts down.”

“Sensory overload, most likely,” Andrew nodded. “Strong sensory input can be off-putting for anyone, but for an autistic person, who might be more sensitive to things like bright lights or loud noises, it can trigger a physical and emotional response. In those moments something like headphones might be welcome, or they might not. I think you’d have to ask Jemma what she thinks, if that’s something she’s interested in using.” Andrew smiled reassuringly. “I know you two are already doing this, but the biggest thing I can tell you at this point is to keep taking your cues from her. Some of your previous experiences may come in handy, but they might not. It just depends on Jemma. Like I said, it’s a spectrum. She won’t display every autistic characteristic we have on record, just the ones that are unique to who she is as a person. Some might overlap with other autistic people – the way she and Bobbi both use tactile stims, for example – but others won’t be present, like how Jemma doesn’t seem to display the echolalia that Bobbi does.”

“I’m sorry, Bobbi…?” Phil’s face scrunched into a look of confusion. “Are you saying Bobbi is autistic, too?”

Andrew blinked, looked surprised. “I… yes, I thought that was one of the things I was supposed to be evaluating for today. I mean, I’m not prepared to diagnose, but I thought Bobbi demonstrated several noticeable autistic traits. I thought… I mean, I just assumed you were aware. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you off-guard with this.”

“No, it’s… it’s not a problem,” May said quickly. “We just… we didn’t realize. We had no idea that was something we should have been looking for with Bobbi. We missed it completely.” Guilt started gumming up around her heart at the realization that there was still so much about Bobbi that was a complete unknown to her and Phil. They focused so much on Skye and Jemma, on their more obvious struggles in school and among peers, that they had inadvertently let Bobbi fall through the cracks. They had been surprised by Bobbi’s batons a few weeks ago. They had been surprised by her panic attack at the soccer game. And now they were surprised to hear that Andrew thought Bobbi might be autistic like Jemma. How had they failed her so profoundly in such a short amount of time?

“That’s actually not all that surprising to me,” Andrew assuaged. He had caught the quick shift in May’s demeanor. “My initial impression of Bobbi is that she’s worked hard over the years to mask a lot of the things that would jump out at us as signs of ASD. She made a few offhand comments today about people reacting negatively to some parts of her personality, and given the few things she mentioned about her father, it wouldn’t surprise me if he encouraged her to bury certain behaviors.”

“She told us once that he didn’t like it when she got emotional or when she repeated things,” May confirmed. “She doesn’t talk about him often, but the few things we’ve learned here and there… it makes my blood boil just thinking about it.”

“Given the pressure from home and potentially from peer groups as well, there’s a real possibility that Bobbi has, for lack of a better word, trained herself to act more like the people around her and less like herself. Which is why it might not be as apparent to a casual observer that she’s potentially neurodivergent. But the batons she uses strike me as an indication of stimming, not unlike Jemma’s tapping, and the repetition of words or phrases – echolalia, when it’s auditory, and echologia, when it’s a thought – is another thing that suggests ASD to me. Speaking with a flat affect is another one, and I noticed that she has a way of looking at people when they speak without actually making eye contact. It’s possible that’s just indicative of discomfort with me or the setting we’re in, but it could also be a strategy she’s developed over time to give the appearance of eye contact, which people expect and consider politer, without actually having to make it. Again,” Andrew stressed, “this is all very early-stage observation. There’s certainly plenty more layers of Bobbi to unpack before we ought to start thinking about labels or diagnoses, but my first impression of her was not all that dissimilar from Jemma’s.”

“I guess… yeah, I mean, that makes sense now that you say it out loud,” Phil mused. “I just never would have… God, it breaks my heart that she feels like she has to keep so much of herself under wraps all the time. It must be exhausting.”

“For now, just keep showing her that you care, that you’re not going to treat her any differently if she starts to reveal pieces of herself. Consistent support can help ease the pressure of having to appear a certain way all the time,” Andrew said encouragingly. “And for what it’s worth, it’s very clear to me that she’s already feeling more comfortable with you two than she might with other people. All three of your girls, really. It’s obvious they adore you two, look up to you. I’m glad you all have managed to find each other.”

“We are, too,” Phil smiled, his eyes a little misty. “They’ve changed our lives so much already, in so many ways. We’re really grateful to share a life with them.” May squeezed his hand again, and he turned his watery smile on her. She knew he could tell she felt the exact same way, and her heart swelled with love for the kind, gentle man sitting by her side.

“Well, Andrew,” she said eventually, clearing the lump from her throat. “We can’t thank you enough. For all your help, your expertise. For seeing us on a Saturday,” she added with a laugh.

Andrew waved her off. “It was my pleasure, really. We actually keep the office open on Saturdays and use Sunday and Monday as our weekend. Several of my patients have families who work fulltime during the week and can’t arrange time off, so Saturday meets their needs a little better. But, even if we didn’t, you know I’d happily open up shop for you and Phil.”

“Still,” she insisted, “we’re very thankful.” Phil nodded emphatically beside her as they all rose to start saying their goodbyes.

“We appreciate everything you’re doing, Andrew,” Phil said, beaming. “And we’ll make sure we don’t let years slide by before we catch up next time.”

“I’m counting on it,” Andrew grinned.

* * *

Monday morning had been a slow one at the station, filled mostly with reports that needed catching up on. Until, that is, May saw the Sheboygan PD number pop up on her caller ID. It was about time. She had passed along the info from her dig through the birth records with Skye to Idaho over in Sheboygan weeks ago, hoping that he might be able to do more with the information than she could stuck in Manitowoc. She knew he was a busy guy, and that following up on a weird reaction from Skye and a nagging hunch from her wasn’t exactly anyone’s top priority, but still, he could have at least checked in.

“Hello?”

“Hey, May? It’s Idaho,” came his boisterous voice. In the background, May could hear what sounded like a raucous conversation taking place. “You free to chat? I’ve got some dirt I finally managed to dig up on that name you gave me. Weird dirt, for sure.”

“I’m free,” she told him, immediately grabbing a notebook, in case there was anything she needed to jot down. She didn’t like the sound of ‘weird dirt.’ “You guys having a party over there in Sheboygan?”

“Nah, it’s just the roller chair derby. Dalton’s arguing there was unsportsmanlike conduct in the last heat, but Horowitz swears the wheel clip was accidental,” Idaho said, which honestly created more questions than answers for May, but she chose to overlook the antics of the Sheboygan department. She had more important things to worry about than Idaho’s shenanigans.

“So you were able to find some information on Calvin Johnson for me?” she asked.

“Yes and no,” Idaho said. “Common name, and the Cal Johnson that I managed to pinpoint from that birth certificate is not an easy guy to track down, let me tell you.”

“Your efforts are appreciated.”

“Aw, thanks,” Idaho crooned. May rolled her eyes. “He’s got a record, which you knew. Been locked up a couple of times, actually – assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, larceny. His first arrest was actually just a couple days after that birth certificate was issued, which I thought was interesting. That one was actually down closer to Milwaukee, which is why it didn’t show up in your original searches. The one you found in your database was the second arrest, about five years later. The third one was about four years ago, though it was only an 18-month sentence, so I’m sure he’s out. The guy must have a good lawyer or a way of charming his judges, ‘cause it looks like he regularly got lighter sentences, despite being a repeat customer of the criminal justice system. Not much info to find on him in between the arrests, though, and not a word since his most recent release.”

“So no real information about where he might be currently?” May asked.

“Not that I can tell, at least from a police standpoint. I can try and poke around in some real estate listings or something, but if we start digging too much deeper, we’re going to need to get a warrant. Right now we’re still just looking at info we can access on our own.”

“That’s fine,” May said quickly. “I don’t want to go too deep right now, it’s all just some light research at this point. Fact-finding, not a full investigation. If it comes to it, I’ll look into getting a warrant, but I want this to all be above-board.”

“By-the-book, I gotcha,” Idaho said. There was a kind of smacking sound on the other end of the line, and May wondered briefly if Idaho had started chewing gum. She took a breath in through her nose, trying to keep her cool. Idaho was giving her good info, she didn’t need to snap at him now. Still, she tilted the phone away from her ear slightly in an attempt to dampen the chewing noises.

“Okay,” Idaho continued, “so like I said, that’s really all there is on this guy post-birth certificate. In and out of the system, but a lot of blank pages in between the entries, if you know what I mean. I looked into his life pre-birth certificate, just out of curiosity. Guy’s got a medical license, which I thought was interesting. There’s a marriage certificate for him and the mother on the birth certificate, a…” he hesitated slightly, and May braced herself for him to butcher the woman’s name. “Jia-ying Johnson? They got hitched about two years before the baby, did it through the Milwaukee County courthouse. I have a buddy in that precinct down there who confirmed that paperwork for me.”

“Any divorce records? Or records regarding the baby?”

“That’s the thing,” Idaho said, his voice coming a little faster, a little more excited. “I told you there was some weird dirt, well, here’s where it gets weird. So they get married in Milwaukee, and the baby’s born in Sheboygan. No big deal, people move all the time. But then dad’s arrested a few days later back in Milwaukee. That’s a lot of traveling, especially when there’s a new baby around. Also a little interesting when you consider that there was a mysterious assault at the hospital the day before dad’s arrest. So I get to thinking, and I do a little sniffing around Ames’ Memorial. Not easy, mind you. They’re totally anal about their records over there. But I manage to find a sympathetic ear, somebody who’s impressed by the uniform—”

“Amazing,” May deadpanned, failing to keep all of her sarcasm completely contained.

“And I can’t get to the full patient files, those are sealed records that we’d need consent from the hospital director to get, or an order from a judge, but I do get a look at some basic info – including time of admission, about an hour before the baby was born, so I guess it was kind of a rush job,” he tittered a little bit to himself, but May wasn’t particularly amused. “And I thought I was going to get time of release a few days later, but the thing is… there’s no record of that. For the mom or the baby. The baby’s records just stop after two days, like she was never there in the first place. The mom’s…”

He paused, and by the sound of it, blew a bubble with his gum. May waited, the breath almost completely suspended in her chest. She was filled with the overwhelming sensation that they were on the cusp of something big.

“The mom’s ended in a hospital-issued death certificate. Almost a week after she was first admitted. I couldn’t see the whole file, like I said, so I have no idea who the doctor overseeing her care was, but the doctor who signed off on the death certificate was that same one who reported the attack at the hospital that we looked into last time. That guy Daniel—”

“Whitehall,” May finished for him. “The one who was dismissed later on.”

“Yup,” Idaho said seriously. “Now, I’m no conspiracy theorist, but that seems like an awful lot of coincidences for just one family, if you ask me.”

May agreed, but she didn’t share that with Idaho, just made a thoughtful noise into the phone to let him know she’d heard him. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but more things were adding up in uncomfortable ways for her to just let the matter drop now.

“Do you have any other information on the mother? Family connections, where she might be buried?” May asked.

“See, here’s the weirdest part of all,” Idaho said in eager, hushed tones. “I thought the same thing. Look more into the mom’s past, see if I could find some other people who might have info about the dad or the baby. But when I went to look for her, there was basically nothing. Not even an official death certificate from the county records.”

“So you’re saying that the hospital has records of this woman’s death, but the government doesn’t? No county or state records at all?”

“None. It’s like she’s a ghost. Or, well, that was insensitive, it’s like she’s been erased,” Idaho amended. “Pretty freaky stuff, right? It’s definitely the weirdest dig I’ve ever done.”

“It’s definitely unusual,” May agreed. “And it opens up a lot more questions than answers.”

“I’ll keep sniffing around in my free time,” Idaho offered. “I can’t promise I’ll find much more at this point, especially now that we’re getting into the murky parts. We may reach a point where we have to launch an official investigation if we want to move forward, but without an actual crime to investigate that seems like a longshot.”

“You’re probably right,” May said with a faint sigh. “I’ll keep looking too, and I’ll loop you in if anything changes. Idaho, I can’t thank you enough for your help. I appreciate you taking time out of your day to chase phantoms. This… this means a lot to me.”

“Hey, anytime,” Idaho said buoyantly. “Trust me, things have been pretty slow around here, so I’ve appreciated the puzzle. I’m honestly kind of invested at this point. I’d love to find the kid eventually, see how she’s doing now. It sounds like she had a pretty crazy first few days of life. Who knows how crazy the rest of her life has been, you know?”

She did know, or at least, if her growing suspicion was correct, then she thought she knew exactly how ‘crazy’ the mystery baby’s life had been. Idaho didn’t know the half of it. She still didn’t have any kind of definitive proof, of course, but she was having a hard time ignoring all of the irregularities and coincidences that were lining up in front of her eyes.

What had started as a simple search for unusual events surrounding the time of Skye’s arrival at St. Agnes had turned into a tangled web of disgraced doctors, a violent father, a mother who seemed not to exist anymore, and a baby who had vanished into thin air. If Skye really was the child caught up in the midst of the mystery taking shape before them, then things were even more complicated than May or Skye had originally thought, and May had no idea how to start to explain everything to her.

She didn’t want to hide anything from Skye, especially after what had happened last time, but she wasn’t sure it was the right decision to bury Skye in a mountain of theories, hunches, and disheartening half-facts. Skye already had a lot going on right now, with school and tutoring and now therapy with Andrew. And May still hadn’t fully cracked the whole thing yet. The gaps in the information she had to work with were looming large, and she still wasn’t sure what the key to the whole thing was – the lynchpin at the center of it all that would help everything else click into place. Was it the doctor? The father? The mother? Skye herself?

May was saved from further spinning her wheels in circular thought by the sudden buzzing of her cell phone. Digging it out of her pocket, she saw her mother’s name flashing on the caller ID. _Ah._ She had been meaning to call her mom back for a couple weeks now, sending only a couple vague emails in the meantime. She wasn’t _avoiding_ her mother’s calls exactly, more like delaying the inevitable until she could figure out exactly how to break the news of their newest family members to her. Everything was still so new and uncertain, she didn’t want to get her mom excited, or invite unsolicited parenting advice, for a situation that still felt somewhat up in the air. She and Phil still had so much learning and navigating to do, the last thing she wanted was her mom going into full grandma-mode before they had fully gotten their bearings.

Still, she couldn’t exactly keep ignoring her mom, so, begrudgingly, May tapped the screen to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“So when exactly were you planning on telling me that I’m a grandmother now?”

May blinked, took a second to process what exactly her mother had just asked, then sighed deeply. “Mom? How did—? You know, I’m actually at work right now, can I call you back later tonight?”

“What, so you can forget and go another two weeks without calling?” her mom accused.

“Mom, I’m sorry, we’ve just been busy—”

“Being a parent does that you.”

“We were going to tell you soon, Mom, I promise. Phil and I were just waiting for… for the right time. For things to feel a little more settled. There’s a lot of new things that we’re still figuring out.” May pinched the bridge of her nose. This was definitely not how she had wanted this conversation to go. “Mom, how did you even find out?”

“Andrew told me,” her mom said simply. “Unlike my daughter and son-in-law, Andrew cares enough about me to fill me in on your major life updates.”

“Andrew told you?” May was surprised. She would have expected that Andrew’s professionalism would have prevented him from mentioning the girls to anyone. They were his patients, after all.

“Yes, well, we were having our Sunday chat, like we usually do, and he mentioned that he met my granddaughters and how proud I must be of them and of you. Of course I had no idea what he was talking about, but I had to pretend like I did. What grandmother doesn’t even know that her grandchildren exist, huh?”

May winced. She had forgotten about Andrew’s Sunday chats with her mother. Even after all these years, he was still better at keeping in touch with her mom than she was. To be fair, though, Andrew and her mom got along like peas in a pod. They always had, even when she and Andrew had been in high school. It was one of the reasons her mother had been so upset when she and Andrew had decided to just be friends. At least he hadn't mentioned the capacity in which he'd met the girls – it was nice to know that she could still count on Andrew to be a straightlaced rule-follower most of the time. Still, she probably should have told Andrew that her mom didn't know about the girls. It was only natural that he would assume Lian already knew.

“Mom, I’m… I’m really sorry. I should have told you. That was a mistake, and I apologize.”

“Does your father know?”

“No, we haven’t told him yet, either.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” her mom said, an edge of teasing creeping into her tone. “At least I’m not the only one you’re keeping in the dark.”

“We haven’t really told anyone, honestly,” May explained. “We’re just fostering them right now, so there are a lot of considerations we have to be aware of, and there’s the possibility that it won’t be a… permanent arrangement.”

“Well you should look into changing that. I’ve waited years to be a grandmother, I’m not interested in going back now.”

May smiled in spite of herself. “I’ll see what I can do, Mom.”

“So,” her mom said, excitement finally overtaking her. “Tell me about my granddaughters.”

“They’re incredible, Mom,” May breathed, surprising herself with the emotion that snagged in her throat. “They’re… they’re better than Phil or I could have ever imagined. Victoria initially matched us up with Jemma, she’s 12, the youngest of the three. She’s sweet and smart and has the most thoughtful way of seeing the world. And when we went to meet Jemma, we met Skye at the orphanage. They’re best friends, they were basically attached at the hip when we met them, and… I don’t know, Mom, something about Skye… we couldn’t just walk away from that place without her. She’s stubborn and feisty, but she’s so gentle and funny. Clever, too, even though she pretends like she’s not.”

“She sounds like someone else I know,” her mom observed. Melinda could automatically picture her mom’s expression, playful and accusatory and proud all wrapped up into one, with the classic single raised eyebrow that every May woman had mastered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” May smirked before continuing. “And Bobbi, she’s the oldest. Strong, determined, so protective of the younger ones. She’s so considerate of other people’s feelings, and she’s sharp as a tack, too. She came to us about a week after we brought Jemma and Skye home, kind of by happenstance, but ever since she’s moved in, it’s just… felt like all these pieces that we didn’t even know we were missing have all slotted into place.”

“Oh, bǎobèi,” her mom sighed contentedly. “I’m so happy for you. They sound perfect. Not that I would expect anything less from my granddaughters, of course.”

“Of course,” May agreed with mock seriousness. “I think you’re really going to like them, Mom.”

“Well, that was never a question.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, May catching her mom up on some other news – work, Phil, their usual fare – and her mom filling May in on the new layout in the grocery store (“they put the produce much too close to the floral department, and you can order a Starbucks right inside the door now. Who needs coffee at the grocery store?”) and the latest drama in her homeowner’s association. Apparently the vice-president of the HA, whom her mother liked, had started amassing a following to unseat the current president. Her mom seemed pleased with the development.

“Hattie O’Neal has let power go to her head. She told me to move my tulip planters back six feet. _Six feet_ , Melinda. I can’t just _move_ my planters, I’m an old lady. But Hattie doesn’t care.”

“You’re not exactly frail and feeble, Mom,” May smiled.

“It’s about the principle, shǎguā. You know that. Anyway, Irene is planning to make her move at the next meeting, and I can’t wait to see the look on Hattie’s face. I haven’t felt a rush like this since we got Milošević out of Yugoslavia.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare your homeowners’ association squabble to a complex international event.”

“My life moves at a much slower pace these days, Melinda. I have to find my excitement somewhere,” her mother teased.

Eventually May had to get back to work, and she ended the call with a promise to keep in touch more regularly.

“And I’ll talk to Phil about figuring out a time for you to meet the girls. We want you come, but we just have more details to work out these days, so no surprise visits, Mom, got it?”

“Fine, fine,” her mother sighed. “Continue to deprive me of my grandchildren. I’ve gone this long without them, what’s a few months more?”

“You’re such a drama queen,” May smiled. She was happy to hear the playful tenor in her mother’s voice. She had been worried that her mom was going to be upset and hold a grudge, but it seemed as though the promise of meeting Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma was more than enough to assuage any resentment at being kept in the dark for so long.

“A queen has a right to be dramatic sometimes, Melinda, remember that. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Bye.”

May leaned back in her chair, sighed deeply. Her list of things to talk about with Phil just kept getting longer and longer, it seemed. Apparently it was just one of those days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, the plot's come back out! ;) Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter - time just kind of got away from me these past couple of weeks. I also apologize if the first part (or any part) was a little too... information-heavy? I tried to pare it down and keep the scene from grinding to a halt, but I was having a hard time getting my editing brain to work and I wanted to get this chapter posted before the weekend, so you got the long-winded version (she says, as if all of her chapters aren't the 'long-winded version'...). 
> 
> Final apology is for the potentially terrible phonetic Mandarin. I'm pretty sure I got the right diacritical marks over the vowels, but I'm not positive... Anyway, I hope you like the chapter! I enjoyed getting to have conversations with Andrew, Idaho, and Lian all in one space :) Next chapter is a Skye one!
> 
> Thank you all a million and one times for reading! I'm really happy you're here <3


	59. Mission Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for fighting and violence

They had thought that the longer they waited, the more Ward would finally start to settle down after everything that had happened at the soccer game weeks ago. The threat he had delivered via Trip seemed to be coming up empty, with only angry glares and the occasional shoulder bump knocking Fitz in the hallway standing as any real sign that Ward was paying them any attention at all. Still, Skye couldn’t shake the feeling that Ward was biding his time, and she was starting to feel like she spent more time at school looking over shoulder than looking at her books. Her grades reflected the new status quo, as they had given up their feeble climb and instead stagnated in most classes, languishing somewhere around the low C mark. The two exceptions were in science, which had taken another nose dive after their last test, and computer science, which had always been her one shining beacon of an A.

“What happened, Skye?” Phil asked, not unkindly, when Skye had presented her big, red F on the top of her science test for Phil to sign. “I thought the cell stuff was starting to make a little more sense. Did something change?”

Skye shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. “It’s not the same when it’s not just homework. I just don’t get it. I’m not smart enough to get it.”

“Well, I know that’s not true,” Phil said firmly. “You’re plenty smart. We just need to find the right way for you to show it off. You said it’s not the same between homework and a test. What’s different?”

“Everything,” Skye huffed. She plunked down in her chair and folded her arms crossly.

Phil pursed his lips slightly, and Skye couldn’t tell if he was trying not to frown or trying not to smile. She wasn’t sure which option irked her more. “Can you give me an example?” he asked.

“The room,” she said, scowling at the tabletop. “At home you can talk it out and take your time. At school you have to go fast, and there’s all this pressure. And nobody’s making any noise, and they’re all sitting there so still, just writing all their right answers down. So then I start thinking about how I don’t understand the questions and I don’t know the right answers to write down, and how I’m the dumbest one in the class. And then I start fidgeting or chewing my pencil or bouncing my leg or whatever, so then all I can think about is how I’m the only one moving and I’m making too much noise and everyone’s going to be mad at me, but I can’t make myself stop. And then there’s only five minutes left and I’ve already flunked.”

Phil sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “We can’t get those accommodations fast enough,” he murmured, more to himself than to Skye. Even though Dr. Garner had sent his paperwork over last week saying Skye could have accommodations at school, the school itself was taking its sweet time putting anything into place for her. Phil gave himself a little shake, like he was reminding himself that she was right there next to him. “Skye, I know it’s really hard right now, and I’m sorry for that. Just hang in there a little longer, okay, kiddo? We’re going to find the thing that works. Soon. I promise.”

“If anything works,” she grumbled.

“Something will work,” Phil insisted, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We just need to figure out the right puzzle pieces that fit to you. No puzzle is unsolvable.”

It was certainly a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t one Skye was sure she believed. As much as she liked putting things together, she was finding more and more frequently that the things that felt most important were the ones that felt impossible to make fit, to make sense of. She couldn’t figure out Ward’s next move. She couldn’t figure out how to do well in school. She couldn’t figure out the mystery that still swirled around her parents. She had all but put Raina and her enticing, suspicious promises of finding Skye’s father out of her mind – either Raina was lying, or she was telling the truth and her father wasn’t a good person – but the gnarling itch to just _know_ , once and for all, who she was and where she came from was a hard one to scratch away.

Mounting frustration at the fruitlessness of it all – her grades, her parents, finding any kind of resolution with Ward – simmered just beneath the surface of her skin almost constantly these days. She was angry and impatient and on edge, and she felt guilty for feeling angry, impatient, and on edge. Everything else seemed to be fine. Everyone else was happy and settled. Jemma had adjusted well to her own tutoring sessions and to seeing Dr. Garner, Bobbi talked often about her friends and seemed less nervous around the house. Skye should have been able to feel like them. But she just couldn’t make herself do it. 

Instead, she sulked at homework time and drug her feet when it was her turn to wash the dishes or take out the trash. She gave short, stilted answers when asked about her day and found herself more often than not wishing that everyone would just stop paying so much attention to her. Rather than comforting or calming her, Phil’s gentle placating and soothing only made her feel irritated, like he was patronizing her, and she found a burgeoning resentment building up at May’s pointed reminders to do simple things like pick up her shoes from the hallway or put her homework in her backpack. She knew she was behaving badly, but she was so put off by the ‘so-muchness’ of everything – the rules, the expectations, the ‘supposed-to-be’s – that she couldn’t force herself to snap out of it.

Maybe that was why, one particularly drab November day, after Ward had “accidentally” collided with Fitz during yet another lopsided basketball game in gym class and sent Fitz sprawling to the ground, Skye found herself at a breaking point. She was tired of waiting, tired of playing games, tired of sitting and hoping someone else was going to fix her problems. As she and Jemma helped Fitz to his feet, Skye turned to look at Trip, who had just jogged up to check on them.

“We have to do something,” she told him, the fire in her eyes burning bright, but only half so hot as the fire in her belly. “We can’t let him get away with stuff like this anymore. It’s time for the plan.”

“You sure?” Trip asked quietly, glancing from Skye to Jemma, who was fussing over a wincing Fitz. “We can’t take it back once we start.”

Skye waited for Jemma and Fitz to give her their nods, somewhat reluctant, but determined all the same. “We’re sure.”

“All right then,” Trip nodded. A faint smile sparked on his face. “Operation Waylay Ward is a go.”

* * *

They started small, all according to plan. Fitz began to include tiny errors in the homework he did for Ward – a misspelled word here, a missed math problem there – nothing that couldn’t be passed off as an honest mistake on Fitz’s part, but something just noticeable enough that Ward would start to suspect something had changed. They made sure to stick close to Fitz’s side that week, never leaving him alone or open to an ambush from Ward, and always staying within eyesight of a teacher. Trip began leaning even harder into his role as a double agent, feeding Ward intel that they were planning something big, that he needed to stifle their budding revolution before it could take root. Of course, with Skye and Jemma blocking him at every turn, Ward’s opportunities to use Fitz to quell an uprising were scant, which naturally only aggravated him further. Skye took pleasure in finding little ways to unsettle him – walking just a few steps closer to his lunch table than she would normally dare, holding his gaze a little longer and with a little more assertion than she ordinarily might – any little thing to signal to him that she was getting bolder and that it was him who needed to be on the defensive, not her.

Of course, they weren’t actually planning any kind of attack. That was the whole point of the plan, to make Ward think they were up to something bigger than they really were and goad him into making a drastic move. Once they had him riled up and ready to snap, the plan was for Skye to drop the final bombshell during lunch, with the rest of them plenty close by, just in case. Skye was supposed to deliver the message that she knew all about his homework arrangement with Fitz, and that she was going to rat them both out for cheating. That was when Jemma was supposed to show up with a teacher, just in time to see what they all suspected would be a violent reaction from Ward. It was a risky plan, they knew, but Skye was convinced it was their only option at this point.

Fitz had tried to offer to be the one to deliver the news and draw the ire of Ward, but Skye shut him down quickly. She wasn’t about to let Fitz get hurt by Ward again, and she had plenty of experience in weathering attacks from bullies. She knew how to take a hit and hold her own, and if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure Fitz could last long enough in a fight to hold out until a teacher arrived. Not that she told Fitz that, of course. Or anyone, really. As far as the others were aware, the teacher would get there in plenty of time to stop a fight from breaking out at all. Jemma in particular was adamant that their plan avoided violence, but Skye had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of them underestimated just how mad Ward might get and how quickly he might lash out. Still, the plan felt solid to her, and it seemed as though everything was lining up accordingly. Until, that is, one wretchedly cold day about halfway through the month, when something none of them could have accounted for threw a horrible, clanging wrench into the works.

Skye had just come out of math with Mr. Bennett and was on her way next door to meet Fitz and Jemma as they exited their own math class when the ashen faces of her friends stopped her dead in her tracks.

“What’s—” she tried to ask. Fitz cut her off with a jerky shake of his head.

“We need to move,” he muttered, walking as quickly as he could down the hall and towards science. Bewildered, Skye looked to Jemma, whose eyes were pooled with unease.

“We’ll explain later,” Jemma murmured. She beckoned for Skye to follow Fitz. “We need to get out of the open.”

Skye was confused, but she knew Jemma well enough to know that the look on her face meant Skye ought to take her seriously, so she trailed behind obediently until all three were settled at their seats in Mr. DeRosa’s class.

“What’s going on?” Skye asked again, taking note of the way Fitz and Jemma kept an eye on the door. “What happened?”

“Mrs. Larimore gave us a pop quiz,” Fitz said darkly, as if that explained everything.

“So?” Skye certainly wasn’t fond of pop quizzes – she did even worse on those than the ones she had time to study for – but she couldn’t imagine that Fitz or Jemma had had much trouble with it. Those two were made for pop quizzes.

“She never gives pop quizzes,” Jemma explained. “And not everyone was prepared.”

Slowly, things started to click into place. “You mean Ward, don’t you?” Skye asked.

Fitz nodded. “I caught a glance at his paper when I was turning mine in. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing. I’d be surprised if he got a single one right.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you don’t do your homework,” Skye pointed out. Of course, in her case, that’s what happened sometimes even if you had done your homework, but she didn’t find much room for pity in her heart for Ward. “So he gets a bad grade. It’s one quiz, it’s not that bad.”

“To him it is,” said Fitz. His expression was deadly serious. “That’s why we had to get out of there so fast.”

“He’s livid,” Jemma added softly. “We need to be careful. And we ought to find Trip right away at lunch.”

“What, so he can protect us?” Fitz asked, a little taken aback. “Because we can protect—"

“No, so we can tell him what happened,” Jemma replied. Her brow scrunched in confusion at Fitz’s abrupt reaction. “And what’s so bad about having another person looking out for us? Trip is nice, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.”

“I wouldn’t let anything bad happen, either” Fitz said. If Skye hadn’t known any better, she might have said that Fitz was almost pouting. “I’d never let Ward lay a hand on you.”

“We know you’re tough and brave, Fitz,” Skye teased, grinning. “I’m not sure I’d put money on you in a fight against Ward, but your chivalry is noted.”

“Nobody should be getting into a fight with Ward,” Jemma stressed. Her worried eyes stared hard, first at Fitz, then at Skye. Skye opened her mouth to offer some reassurance, but there was something about the stiffness in Jemma’s shoulders and the rapid pace of her tapping that stopped Skye short. It was the way Jemma looked when had something on her mind and she was trying to figure out how to say it. “I…” Jemma faltered. She looked uneasy, like she knew no one would like what she was about to say. “I think we should go to a teacher. Miss Hill or someone. I don’t think our plan is safe anymore.”

Skye’s jaw fell open. “What?”

“We’ve let things get too far out of control. We need help.”

“No we don’t,” Skye said firmly. “Not from teachers. You know how that always goes. They won’t believe us, not against somebody like Ward. The school thinks he’s perfect, and we’re… not like him.”

“Miss Hill might believe us—” Jemma tried to say, but Skye could barely hear her over the angry roaring that was crashing in around her ears.

“The school has my records, Jemma, they know about all the trouble I’ve gotten in before. They know about me cutting school and that I’m failing my classes and that I’m… that I’m…” _Not as good as everybody else_ , she thought. _Not worth even half a Ward to them_. “They know we don’t fit in here,” she finished lamely. “They’re just going to think we’re making it up or being sensitive or lying to cover up something else bad we’ve done. They’re going to take his side. They might even get Fitz in trouble for cheating.”

“I’m not the one cheating,” Fitz protested, indignation coloring his cheeks.

“They won’t care,” Skye said hotly. _No one ever did._ Her neck felt warm and her arms were buzzing. “People like us are the ones who take the fall, not people like Ward. That’s why we have to do the plan. So a teacher can catch him in the act. So we have proof.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Jemma said. Her voice was quiet, but there was a firmness to it that Skye hadn’t expected. “I know you’ve been… angry lately. But picking a fight with Grant Ward isn’t going to fix anything. It’s getting bigger than we can handle by ourselves and I think we need to tell someone.”

“I’m not _angry_ ,” Skye said, in a tone that did little to help her case. She paused to take a sharp breath and pull herself back under control. “And I’m not trying to pick a fight. I just want to stick with the plan we all agreed to. I don’t want to let Ward get away with everything he’s done.” Out of the corner of her eye, Skye saw Mr. DeRosa come into the classroom, ready to start class soon, no doubt.

“What do you think, Fitz?” Jemma asked suddenly. Fitz paled slightly under the dual gazes of Skye and Jemma, each waiting expectantly for him to take their side.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered. “Our plan should work, but… you didn’t see him just now, Skye. He was angrier than I’ve ever seen him. We might be in over our heads.”

“Can we at least talk to Trip about this?” Skye asked, sensing that she was about to lose Fitz’s vote. “Before we go and start telling? He’s a part of the mission, too. He should get a vote.”

“Of course,” placated Jemma. “We’ll talk to him at lunch, fill him in on everything.”

“All we have to do is stay alive until then,” Fitz mumbled, as Mr. DeRosa called the class to order. Skye thought Fitz was being more than a little dramatic about the whole thing, but she kept her mouth shut. It ended up being a good decision, given how wrong she turned out to be.

* * *

The ambush came out of nowhere as they rounded a corner on their way to the cafeteria. If Skye had been paying more attention – if she’d taken Fitz and Jemma more seriously – she might have checked the hall, might have noticed the shadow lurking right on the other side. Instead, she had been caught completely off-guard. 

Ward’s arms materialized in front of them, grabbing Fitz roughly before she or Jemma had a chance to process what was happening. In a flash, Ward spun Fitz around and wrapped him in a headlock, his tightly muscled arm flexing against Fitz’s neck. Fitz gasped and spluttered, his hands scrabbling at Ward’s arms.

“Let him go!” Jemma cried, almost a shriek. Ward’s eyes flashed dangerously, and a cold feeling oozed into Skye’s veins. This wasn’t the same Ward she was used to. Something was different about him – less controlled, more hostile.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Fitz,” Ward growled. “We had a good thing going and you just had to run to the teachers about it, didn’t you?”

“Don’t know… what you’re… talking,” Fitz choked out. Ward’s expression hardened, and the headlock tightened.

“I know you convinced Larimore to give us that pop quiz. Thought you’d make me look stupid in front of her, thought you’d trip me up. You blabbed about the homework and cooked up the quiz to take me down.”

“He didn’t,” Jemma insisted, desperation running ragged through her words. “He didn’t know about the quiz. Let him go!”

“Stay out of this,” Ward spat. He returned his attention to Fitz, whose face was starting to grow red. “You really screwed things up for me, egghead. Time to break your shell, I guess.”

Before she knew what she was doing, before Ward had a chance to do anything worse to Fitz, Skye lunged at him with a bellow of pent-up rage. She aimed herself at Ward, trying to grab his arms and force him to let Fitz go, but Ward was too quick for her. He spun around so that Skye careened into his side, keeping Fitz out of her reach and managing to retain his balance with ease. Skye reeled backwards, a little stunned by just how solid Ward was. Ward smirked at her and tightened his grip on Fitz, who let out a strangled gurgle of a sound.

“You’re going to kill him!” Skye shouted as she flung herself back Ward’s way, only to be tripped up as Ward aimed a kick at her ankles. She splayed across the floor, banging her chin painfully onto the tiles. Her eyes watered at the stinging scrape she was sure now graced her chin, but she scrambled back up to her feet without hesitation.

A small crowd was gathering, but there were no teachers in sight. Wildly, Skye looked around for something, anything, that she could use to her advantage. There was nothing. No friendly faces, no adults pushing their way forward. Just Skye and Ward, who was a foot taller and twice as strong. She could hear the rumbling of the growing crowd, Fitz struggling to breathe, Jemma’s shuddery fear interspersed with sharp intakes of anxious breath. Ward leered at her, his smug face daring her to try again. So, she did.

Skye barreled forward a third time. She knew she would never beat Ward head-on, so she had to find other ways to give herself the upper hand. He was bigger than her, which meant going low would give her an edge, and getting him off-balance would be the only way to bring him down. As she drew closer to Ward, Skye made a split-second decision and dove, avoiding another well-aimed kick, and plowing headlong into his knees, which buckled in surprise.

Ward twisted as he fell, trying to right himself before he hit the ground next to Skye. In his efforts to stay on his feet and free his hands, he shoved Fitz away from him, much to Skye’s satisfaction. That satisfaction was immediately siphoned out of the air, however, as Fitz stumbled limply, clearly disoriented by Ward’s chokehold and the force of the shove. Fitz toppled to the ground and landed hard, his head connecting to the tile with a sickening crack. Someone screamed, Skye couldn’t see who, and she looked up from the floor where she and Ward were now tangled to see Fitz’s body go slack and his eyes flutter shut.

“What did you—” she tried to ask, but she was cut off by Ward, who had shoved himself up from the ground and flipped around so that he was looming over Skye, a knee pressed into her chest. The pressure on her lungs killed the words before they left her throat and she felt her breath turn into a wheeze.

“You really should have stayed out of this, Skye,” he snarled. “You can’t touch me. You’re _nothing_.”

In an instant, Skye’s vision went blood red, and the raucous sounds of the onlookers were drowned out by an angry buzzing. There was nothing around them anymore – no people, no Jemma, no hallway. Just her and Ward, and the gut-wrenching image of Fitz, lying unmoving a few feet from them, that was burned into her brain. Enraged, Skye swung her fist as hard as she could, determined to connect with whatever part of Ward she could reach. She felt a shockwave radiate through her knuckles as they collided with soft skin and hard bone and it surprised her how good it felt. She swung with the other hand, before Ward could regroup and pin her arms down, and she watched as this one connected squarely with Ward’s ear.

Ward shifted his weight backwards, caught off-guard by the force of Skye’s punch, and the change in his position was enough for Skye to writhe free of his knee, finally breathing deeply. They both scrambled to their feet and Skye wasted no time in launching another punch up at Ward’s loathsome face. She wanted him to feel how _nothing_ felt when it slammed into his jaw.

The hit to his jaw was the last punch she landed. After that one, Ward had gotten his bearings well enough to block her next attempt easily, catching her arm and twisting her wrist painfully. Taking advantage of Skye’s temporary incapacitation, Ward wound up and sent a right hook plowing across her face. It took all Skye’s willpower not to crumple then and there, but she forced herself to stay upright, just as she had so many times before. She was tired of letting the bullies win, of curling up and letting all the bad people of the world waltz over her huddled self.

Feebly, Skye aimed a punch towards Ward, but he knocked it aside as if she were a moth fluttering too close to his face. He took a step towards her, closing the distance between them. His face was contorted with malice and his lip was bleeding from where Skye had hit him moments ago.

“I don’t usually fight girls,” he sneered, backing Skye into a corner. “But you’re a special case.” He struck, quick and hard like a cobra, and pain erupted, fireworks popping in her stomach, on the side of her head, under her eye. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. How many times had she been in this position? More than she would ever care to admit. There was always somebody bigger, somebody older, somebody tougher. Somebody who’s mission in life was to show Skye that her place would always be crumpled down in the dirt, an old cigarette crushed under the heel of a boot.

Then, suddenly, the blows stopped falling. Blinking past the swelling that was already puffing up her eye, Skye looked up and saw that Trip had materialized and had tackled Ward, fighting to keep him pinned on the ground. Without thinking, she lunged back at the pile, swinging wildly at anything that looked like Ward.

“Stand down, man,” Trip ordered, struggling to keep Ward from pummeling Skye further. Ward let out a cold, barking laugh.

“You’re so dead, Triplett,” he said, panting slightly and planting an elbow hard across Trip’s nose. Trip let out a cry and clutched at his face, but didn’t let Ward up from the ground. Skye was about to come in for a revenge shot at Ward’s own nose when a booming voice rang out over all their heads:

“Hey! Break it up!” A strong pair of hand grabbed Skye by the bag of the shirt and dragged her away from Ward. Mr. Bennett was hauling her backwards, while Coach Garrett had forced himself in between Ward and Trip, keeping them at arm’s length from each other.

“Cool it,” he snapped at the two boys. “This is over, you hear me?” Slowly, Trip’s muscles relaxed, and he sagged in surrender. Ward had stopped trying to surge forward to Trip, but there was still venom in his eyes and his fists were still clenched.

“Clear out,” Mr. Bennett ordered the group of students who had been watching the fight unfold. “Get to lunch, all of you. Not you four,” he added, looking from Trip and Ward to Skye, who was still struggling against his grip, to Jemma who was crouched over Fitz’s form, hands shaking. “You four are going straight to the office.”

“But Fitz—“ Skye protested, wrenching herself free of Mr. Bennett’s grasp.

“The nurse is on her way,” Mr. Bennett said firmly. “She’ll take care of Leopold, and Coach Garrett will be escorting you all to see the principal. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry :/   
> I know that's kind of a crummy cliffhanger, but that's where we have to stop for now. Jemma's turn next chapter, then back to Skye... hopefully they can get everything straightened out. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for being here and reading <3 It's an honor to share cyberspace with you!


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